Straight On 'Til Morning
by blacksilkrose123
Summary: After receiving a rather unwanted "gift" from Captain Hook, Emma must make a choice between sacrifice and self-fulfillment. A tale of forced magic, misplaced hearts, and twisted dreams. CaptainSwan.
1. Prologue

**A/N:** **I cannot jump this ship. So many delicious ideas of our favorite pirate and his swan. This story takes place after "Tallahassee" but partly into "Queen of Hearts". It is a bit based on my other short story, "What's Mine is Yours". As a slight warning, this prologue is meant to be a tad confusing, and you will see why by the end. It's following a bit of stream-of-consciousness. So hang onto your hooks, and enjoy! **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

Prologue

"_**Don't be upset now**_

_**You know that I get angry too**_

_**Don't make me hurt you**_

_**It's true**_

_**No one hears you in this room"**_

It was raining.

Of _course _it was raining.

Emma's shoulders sagged beneath the weight of the torrential downpour, glancing to her left, then her right, as she took in the sight of her companions. Mary Mar—_Mom_, Emma corrected herself mentally—tilted her face up to the sky, spreading her arms out and letting her pursed lips melt into a sobbing smile. Emma breathed a sigh of relief before allowing Mary Margaret to not-so-gently tug her into a tight embrace. "We're _home_, Emma, we made it!"

But it only took one name for Emma to breathe for Mary Margaret to understand. _Henry._ She pulled back, allowing her mother to hold her at arm's length, Mary Margaret nodding eagerly in the rain before turning her attention to their guests.

"This," Mulan blinked piteously through the rain, "is the infamous Story Book?"

"Story_brooke_," Emma corrected, shielding her face with her forearm. She wasn't sure why they were just standing in the rain. They should have run for Mary Margaret's apartment, or Granny's Bed and Breakfast—anywhere to get out of this. Yes_, _Emma thought, let's just pow-wow in the middle of a storm. Weather's perfect for hair and nails.

She glanced at Aurora, soaked in her gown, whose emotions looked as though they were melting with the rain. Tears? Really? Emma sighed, trying to shove back her biting sarcasm for the shivering princess. "You're safe now. Here, in Storybrooke. There's nothing to be af—"

"_No, you're afraid."_

Emma's head jerked up sharply. _"Afraid to talk." _Her entire being, inside and out—_"To reveal yourself"—_was balking at the impossibility of _that _voice. _"To trust me." _Ten hours. "_Things will be a lot smoother if you do." _They'd had ten hours, how the hell—

"Emma, you're—"

"—_quite perceptive, aren't you?"_

Emma's face contorted in an unreadable expression for just a moment before she slammed those impassible walls back up before Mary Margaret and their crew. Her fists clenched and she whirled around on the heels of her boots. The rain, however, was making visibility near impossible. She thought she saw – _no. _

Mary Margaret was at her back, a hand on her shoulder. "What's wrong?" There was an edge to her voice that grated against Emma's stringy nerves. She rolled her shoulder back and moved away from the touch, further into the rain and the darkness that was threatening to envelop her. Her head tilted to the side, like _his _had, her ears at full attention and eyes narrowed, just as _his_ had been, trying to grasp some straw of sanity that might explain what she was doing, why—

"—_do this to me now?"_

"Do you hear that?" Her voice came out hollow, a deadpan of emotionless nothing. But she was shaking, she could feel it—chills pulsing all the way to the tips of her toes. Emma blinked. "Look," she huffed, flustered as Mary Margaret placed her hand on Emma's forehead. Checking for a bloody fever. "I'm not _sick_, if you could just give me—"

"—_a boost, would you, love?"_

_Oh, I'll give you more than a boost, Hook_. Emma's face flushed with barely contained rage. _I don't know what's going on, but get the hell out of my head!_

"Are you…Emma, are you alright?"

Emma shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. "Right as rain. Let's go."

Mary Margaret eyed her for a moment longer before sliding her hand to Emma's shoulder and giving it a squeeze. "Honey, you—"

"—_are bloody brilliant. Amazing."_

Emma could _feel_ her heart quiver at that one. Her fists tightened even more, knuckles turning white. What the _hell_ was going on? She could hear him clearly, as if he were right inside her head. Like some stupid parasite that had crawled its way inside her ear and was determined to drive her mad. Emma glanced at Mary Margaret, mildly wondering if she _was_ mad. Maybe that portal had screwed up her brain somehow. Too much magic dust or whatever _had _to be bad for you. Especially if she wasn't used to it. She frowned. _What if something's wrong with me?_

"Are there, by any chance, side effects from magic?" Emma turned from the forest and looked her mother square in the eye, impatiently pursing her lips.

Mary Margaret's own lips twisted to the side, her eyes flashing with the memory of the fiery room. "Yes. But," she breathed, examining the concern falling on Emma's face, "Side effects are more along the lines of curses. Not a portal."

"What about for someone—"

"—_who's never been in love, you're quite perceptive, aren't you?"_

"—like me?" Her hard tone fell to a quiver.

"Someone like you? Emma, I don't…oh, honey. No. You were born in our world, not this realm. It would react the same to you as me or the others," she gestured behind her to a rather impatient-looking Mulan. Aurora clung to her in the rain, eyes as bright as a cow facing an oncoming train.

Emma sighed, running shaky fingers hastily through her damp hair. "Right. Okay." She glanced back at the darkening forest. "I just…I think I need to see Henry."

Mary Margaret smiled. It was hesitant. "Of course you do."

"And we need to get them," Emma nodded towards Mulan and Aurora, "someplace dry."

"I'm sure Granny would be willing to accommodate." Mary Margaret led the way towards Granny's diner, the two women in hot pursuit while Emma lagged behind. She folded her arms, bending her head against the downpour. She could see her breath. It came out in short, white puffs, reminding her how cold she _should_ feel. But she couldn't feel a thing. _Listen, Hook. If you're in my head…kindly remove yourself before I—_

"—_was hoping it would be you." _

Emma's steady footfalls paused for a moment, before picking up speed. _Quit it. Are you bloody two years old? Grow a pair and have a conversation, will you? Don't repeat the past._

"_Oooohh, you're a tough lass."_

_HOOK!_

Silence. Emma sighed, running the back of her hand across her eyes, dissembling the streaks of rain trespassing into her eyes. She let out a short laugh as the silence continued. The laugh turned into a fit of giggles. _Great_, she shook her head, grinning to herself. _I am going mad. Yelling at myself in my head. Look out, Storybrooke, you'd—_

"—_make a hell of a pirate." _

_Bloody. Hell. _

God, she was even beginning to sound like him.

"Emma, hurry up! You're soaked, honey!" Emma brushed off Mary Margaret's concern, shrugging past her and into the crowded diner, suddenly remembering _why_ she was here. Her eyes tore anxiously through the restaurant before settling on a pair in the back booth. David and Henry. Mary Margaret was, of course, way ahead of her as she trotted past the tables filled with townspeople whom, if Emma hadn't known better, were unhinging their jaws for Granny's food rather than the sight of Snow White and Prince Charming being reunited. Applause rang through the air. Emma found herself fighting past a rather enthusiastic Grumpy who was handing out rather _uncharacteristic_ hugs. When she'd freed herself from his arms, she ducked Red's attack, which closely resembled that of the left tackle in football. "Sorry, Ruby!" she shouted over her shoulder, sidestepping a blushing Archie who offered her one of his psychologist-of-the-year nods followed by a hesitant wave.

"Kid!" Emma yelled over the uproar. She was restless to escape the sudden onslaught of claustrophobia, but she knew she had to find Henry first. _Find son. Exit quickly. Minus the mob. Run. Good plan. _

And then she heard him. "Emma! _Mom! _Over here!" A hand shot out and took hold of her jacket collar, tugging her none-too-gently past a Happy-on-steroids who was high-fiving every being in sight. Emma felt dazed as she allowed the disembodied arm to tow her through the crowd, a crowd that seemed to relax into slow motion. As if time were being tampered with. And that's when she saw it. Out of the corner of her eye. A hook, tearing through the air, threatening to slice apart everything she loved. Everything she'd come to know in the past few months.

"Let GO of me!" she screamed, gripping the arm and pulling herself free. "Let—"

"—_me help you._"

"God_damn _you!" Emma snapped, shoving off her toes as she launched herself at the wielder of the hook. The crowd seemed to vanish as Emma barreled into him, shouldering all of her weight into his stomach.

"What the…?!" His voice was silenced with a quick elbow to the jaw. Emma's hand reached for her belt, but remembered her cuffs had vanished between this world and the next. She'd have to improvise. She felt bad Henry had to see her like this, but she couldn't chance Hook seeing _him_. The last thing she needed was her son's life in danger, in threat of a one-armed pirate whose main weapons were his vulgar antics and those smoldering, cerulean eyes. Wait. _What?_ Where had _that_ come from? Emma gritted her teeth, shaking her hair back from her eyes as she shifted her weight.

Before she could confidently tell him _where _he could shove his Miranda rights, a voice stopped her cold. "Miss Swan, do you, er, _mind_ telling me what my umbrella has done to deserve this?"

Emma froze, jerking her head up and eyes widening in horror. Archie was sprawled beneath her. She had tackled Archie Hopper in the middle of Granny's. And her hands were clutching his umbrella in a vice-like grip. In two pieces. Emma's jaw dropped. "Oh my God, Archie I'm so—"

"—_sorry? You're _sorry_?! I got you here! I got you the compass…"_

Emma gritted her teeth as she rolled off Archie, dropping his broken umbrella and helping him to his feet. Her hand went to her head, bracing herself against Hook's words. "I swear I'll buy you a new one, Archie. I don't…I don't know what came over me. I—_shit!_" Emma doubled over, cradling her right wrist. It was as if she'd been burned. She glanced down at the leather brace Hook had given her. She righted herself quickly, turning her back on Archie and Mary Margaret. The diner, oddly, had completely cleared out. David must have sent them all home, Emma thought, wincing as the brace's grip dulled to a numb ache.

"Emma, are you alright?" Mary Margaret trotted up to her, placing her hand on Emma's back in comfort. "What's going on? You've been acting really strange ever since we've gotten back."

"It's nothing, I'm fine."

"You're lying to me. Emma, look at me. Tell me the truth, have—"

"—_I told you a lie? I brought you here. I risked my own safety to help you."_

Emma's brows furrowed, debating on the likelihood her mother would ship her off with Archie to have a mental evaluation if she told her the truth. She glanced over Mary Margaret at him; he was dusting himself off and collecting the torn fabric and wood chips that were left of his umbrella. Her gaze met her mother's, making up her mind. "I think Hook's in my head."

Mary Margaret narrowed her eyes sharply. "What do you mean?"

"When we got here. I heard his voice. None of you seem to be hearing it, but I swear, it's like he's inside my head, and he won't bugger off. I've tried…_think_ talking to him, you know, but he won't get the picture. He just repeats all his dumbass comments from the beanstalk, and I," she sighed shakily, folding her arms. "I don't know how to get rid of it. Him, I mean."

Mary Margaret glanced over her shoulder at Archie, who was now smiling awkwardly at them, as if on standby for precaution. She turned back and steered Emma to a booth far out of Archie's hearing, sitting her down. "Honey, who is Hook?"

Emma raised her brows. "You're kidding, right? That infamous pirate from all those Peter Pan stories. The one who's apparently real, though far be it from me to disbelieve _any _sort of fairytale character now. Led me up a beanstalk to get the compass that took us home." Mary Margaret frowned, cocking her head to the side. Emma sighed exasperatedly. "You know, pompous asshole, yea high," she lifted her hand in the air. She crooked her left finger, "Giant hook for a left hand. Really, can't miss it." She let out a hesitant laugh before squinting one eye at her mother. "Oh. My. God. You don't believe me."

Mary Margaret's face instantly lit up in a grin. She reached across the table to pat Emma's hands consolingly. "Of course I do, dear. Now, if you don't mind, Regina and I are having a girls' night out. So, I know you're having a tough time readjusting, but my cell phone's _only_ for emergencies, like if Red accidentally eats Henry or something," she giggled, scooting out of the booth.

Emma's jaw dropped.

The only two words that could so eloquently come to mind? _The. Fuck. _

"This isn't a joke, Mary Margaret!" Her voice was rising, but she couldn't help yelling at Snow White—her mother. Her entire body was quivering with some deluded combination of fear and barely contained rage. _Hook. Somehow, this is your fault._ _That's great. Just great. I can't even _blame_ you because no one seems to know who the hell you are. Goddamn pirate. _

"I know it isn't!" Mary Margaret was making her way cheerily to the front door when it was pulled open. There stood Regina Mills. In pajamas. Complete with bunny slippers. She flashed an apologetic smile at Emma.

"Sorry to steal your mother like this, but _in this world we are slaves to time. And ours is running out. In other words, tick tock."_

Emma froze. Her entire body felt like lead as she watched Regina steer her waving mother out of Granny's and into the rain. They were gone in an instant. And Emma was confident _she_ had gone insane.

"Hey, Archie, I think I may take you up on one of your," Emma turned around to face an empty diner, "sessions…" A crack of lightning slashed through the sky, lighting up the now-dark restaurant. "What. Is going. On?" The resounding thunder seemed to shake the entire building. She was surely losing her mind. God, she had to be. People were disappearing. She'd tackled Archie. Her mom was going out for a _girls' night_ with _Regina_ of all unholy people. And the voices. His voice. Emma shook her head, agitated as she pulled herself out of the booth. "I need—"

"—_to get back to a child…you don't want to abandon him the way you were abandoned."_

Emma's fist slammed down on the table. "Hook! Get the hell out of my head! Or, I swear to God, I'll shove your open book so far up your ass you'll wish you'd never left Never Land." She shouldered her way out of the diner's door, letting the freezing rain bite at her face. Her car was nowhere to be seen—not like she had any keys to drive it with. The streets were completely deserted, and at every flash of lightning Emma saw—_felt_—something sinister watching her from the shadows. Her boots clicked impatiently on the hard concrete as she jogged down the road to Mary Margaret's apartment. She could feel something, maybe him, following her. His silent pursuit did nothing for her nerves. Henry. She couldn't lead him to Henry. Then where? _Think, Emma._ Her eyes raked across the town's buildings. _Where wouldn't he want to go?_ It suddenly struck her. _Rumpelsiltskin's. _

She was at his house in a matter of minutes. Her fist connected with the door frame, banging loudly as she anxiously glanced over her shoulder. She could feel him closing in. Her heart was in her throat. Still looking behind her, the door swung open.

"Oh, Gold, thank _God, _I—"

Emma's heart stopped.

It wasn't Gold at all. Instead, leaning casually against the door frame, arms folded and one brow raised arrogantly, stood Killian Jones. He was grinning like a Cheshire cat, but somehow his bared teeth seemed more sinister than playful like in the children's story. Something glinted in another flash of lightning. Crimson. Dripping from where his left hand should be. From his hook. He followed her gaze then resettled his calculating look on Emma.

"You killed him? You killed Rumpelstiltskin?"

"_Whatever story you think you know, my dear, is most certainly wrong."_

Emma sucked in a sharp breath, feeling a surge of courage course through her veins, taking control. She owed it to the sheriff inside her. She took a step towards him, pulling herself to her full height and narrowing her eyes at him coldly. "Oh, shut the hell up and give it a Goddamn rest, will you? Try _new_ words. Starting with a confession. Did you, or didn't you, kill Rumpelstiltskin? Whose blood is on your han—_hook_?"

"_The truth's a little bit more gruesome…very bad form."_

Emma couldn't ignore the ice that seemed to pump rapidly through her heart. "Who did you kill, you fuc—"

"_I was hoping it would be you."_

"Yes, you've already said that—three Goddamn times now," Emma huffed. She was angry, her cheeks flushing and rage flaring. Her entire body was shaking, and she blamed it on the cold rain. But then a wave of dizziness overcame her. Emma shifted her weight, leaning towards him as she reached out a hand to brace herself against the frame. She opened her mouth, but the words seemed to dissolve in her throat. She coughed, a bitter pain exploding in her chest.

"_Put your hand right here,"_ Hook ordered calmly. She watched him place his own hand over his upper left chest, silently instructing her to repeat his actions on herself. Emma frowned stupidly. Her eyes weren't focusing. Her hand, as if of its own accord, lifted and delicately rested over her heart. She pulled it away. Even with her blurred vision, there was no mistake. Emma's breath hitched. Her hand was soaked in dark, red blood.

"_Let me help you."_ His eyes darkened, brows knitting together as his mouth cocked up into a sideways grin. He reached out to grab hold of her arm. A surge of electricity jolted Emma. His touch. It was like fire. _But_, she sighed, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe, _not the good kind of fire. The kind that engulfed you whole. Seared every bit of you until you were entirely unrecognizable. Until you were no longer you. But someone else. _

She took a step forward and collapsed. He caught her easily, his hooked arm wrapping around her back while his good arm slid beneath her knees. Emma felt as if she were flying when he hauled her up and against his chest softly. The touch. His touch. It was so…different from his eyes. They were cruel. Cold, calculating. Unforgiving. Pools of death, she decided as she tried to blink away the haze. And she couldn't help it. Bitterly, unwillingly, her head fell to his shoulder to silence the swimming world around her. _"It's about bloody time."_ Emma felt herself jostled by his rumbling laughter, no doubt laughing at the irony of his statement, concerning her suddenly fatal predicament.

"Henry. I have to get to Henry…"

Hook turned in the doorway, kicking the door shut behind him. He strolled into the dimly lit room. Emma glanced around. The room was _rocking_. Wooden panels were covering what used to be wallpaper. Instead of hundreds of Gold's trinkets, there were barrels and netting. Against the far wall, where Hook was carrying her, rested a small cot. Emma swore she could hear the waves of the ocean. Her body melted at the feel of the mattress beneath her back when Hook lowered her to the bed. She was wheezing now, her lungs aching with every breath's effort. Her chest was on _fire_, but oddly, the rest of her body was freezing. A shiver racked her frame as she allowed, laughing slightly under her breath, Captain Hook to tuck her in.

"_That's a good girl." _His hand met her forehead, frowning slightly at her temperature. Emma could feel it. That pinprick sensation in her right wrist had returned with vengeance. Where the bracer was. It tugged and pulled, digging into her skin. As if it was trying to _become_ her skin. Emma's fingers flew to the leather. Hook let loose an indiscernible curse beneath his breath, stilling Emma's efforts to pull it off. He shook his head, his eyes crisp and threatening. They seemed too real, Emma realized, allowing Hook to draw her hand into his. _I should be kicking his ass right now,_ she mentally huffed. But she felt so tired. Sleep. She just needed to sleep. Then she could get to the bottom of this. And find Henry. She had to warn Snow White. She had to…

_Emma. _

If she could just close her eyes, the pain would recede, she was sure.

_Emma. Sweetie. _

The voices were louder, but they weren't his. It was—

_EMMA!_

Emma's half-lidded eyes flew to Hook's. He was watching her calmly, gripping her hand in his. Her gaze slid down to his bloodied hook. _Her_ blood. She was the one he had killed. Rumpelstiltskin was nowhere to be seen. But when she had asked about a murder, he had coolly redirected her focus to her bleeding chest. An answer. An act of revenge. For deserting him.

_Emma, open your eyes. You've got to—_

She shuddered, eyes slipping closed. Hook's hand left hers to grip her chin firmly, shaking it side to side. Trying to keep her there with him. She eyed him beneath hooded lids. He was shouting something, hovering over her as desperation drenched his face. Regret. Emma would recognize that look on anyone's face. Because she'd seen it on her own too many times in the mirror.

—_wake up! _

_Wake the hell up! _

She turned her face away from Hook. Out of his commanding reach.

_EMMA! _

Her eyes slipped closed.

Then flew open.

"Emma, sweetie, oh my God, are you okay?"

"Is she alright?"

"She's fine, just a bad dream, right honey?"

"She was acting just like Aurora…she hasn't been under a sleeping curse, has she?"

"No. Emma? Emma?"

Emma blinked against the harsh sunlight. Her heart sunk. The nightmare, she realized sadly, was not in her head but reality. They were still in the Enchanted Forest. They hadn't made it back yet after all. But, Emma grimaced, despite her bitter reality, she knew one thing.

"_I love a challenge." _

Captain-fucking-Hook was still inside her head.

**A/N: Like it? Hate it? Let me know! I know it was a bit confusing at parts, but this was a **_**dream**_**, that will set Emma up for a series of physical and mental spirals involving our lovely captain. Dreams are never quite certain, and always loaded with mysteries accompanied with broken plot strings. The point was, in Emma's mind, she can't escape Hook, and trust will be a hard thing to come by as she believes she now knows the one thing he will only ever pursue: revenge. I hope you were able to follow Hook's interjections inside Emma's mind (italicized quotes). **

**As a side note, I am looking for a beta, someone to help edit and bounce ideas with, so if anyone is interested, please feel free to send me a PM or comment in a review. I plan on continuing this story if it is approved by an audience. Keep in mind, this was a prologue—merely something to get our feet wet in the ever-delicious Captain Swan universe. Merry Christmas, everyone! **


	2. Chapter 1

**A/N: Don't know about you lot, but I am entirely too impatient for January 6th... I am deeply indebted to those of you following and reviewing the story—you keep my wild imagination chugging away. As mentioned before, this story takes place in the **_**midst**_** of "Queen of Hearts". In reminder of that, Aurora has already met with Cora and Hook, and she has reunited with Emma and the group on their way to Rumpel's cell. **

* * *

Chapter One

"_**Oh, here goes my curious sinner within;**_

_**Is someone listening? I hope no one is listening…"**_

_**x**_

_**x**_

_**x**_

"For the hundredth time, Mary Margaret, I'm _fine_!"

"Emma, there's something you're not telling me. And I think if you just rest a while, maybe you'd be more willing…"

"_No!_" Emma's clipped tone left no room for further argument. She rounded on her mother. "I am _not_ going back to sleep."

Snow braced herself. "We all have nightmares, but that's no excuse to become an insomniac." She glanced at Aurora. "No offense."

The princess visibly bristled but she dismissed the comment.

Snow turned back to her daughter. "Emma, you have to tell me," she took a deep, steadying breath, "I am your mother, after all. As Aurora and I have lately proven, dreams hold a great amount of power, and I can't take the chance that something deeper than a nightmare is going on."

"It's nothing."

Snow quirked a brow. "So 'nothing' is the reason you haven't eaten for two days? Really, Emma." She reached forward and took Emma's hand in hers. Emma had to fight with herself not to roll her eyes at the gesture. Mary Margaret was _really _getting into this mothering role lately. And it was driving her up the wall. Or, tree. There were no walls here. "I've tried my best to be very open with you, and I think it's important we establish trust." Emma scoffed, Snow's last word striking her hard to the core and bringing up a certain unwanted, roguish visage in her mind.

"Look. I know you're trying to redeem yourself for lost time, but I've looked after myself for as long as I can remember. I don't need some Freud-wannabe psychoanalyzing my dreams. I don't have any sort of a complex, so _please_, can we just get back on track and focus on getting to Rumpeltiltskin's cell?" Mary Margaret's jaw dropped. Emma immediately regretted her harsh tone, but it had to be said. She was _fine_—or at least that was the appearance she wanted to give. Deep down, she knew differently. Her fingers absentmindedly met the bracer on her arm. It was pulsing slightly, like a heartbeat. She wanted to rip it off, but something, or some_one_, inside her head was silently issuing a warning _not to touch the bloody thing._

"We have to move. Quickly," Mulan interrupted the heart-warming rendezvous. "We still have the upper ground over Cora if we can get the ink."

Mary Margaret nodded. "It's still at least a few hours' journey." She turned to Emma. "Do you think—"

"I'm. _Fine_," Emma all but growled.

"—you could take the rear…"

Emma's eyes rose. _Shit. _"Yeah. Sorry." Her mother frowned.

"I may be trying to make up for lost time, Emma, but that's something you have to _let_ me do. I won't force it on you. I understand perfectly well that you can take care of yourself. You proved yourself quite well with that beanstalk and Hook," Emma flinched at the mention of his name, "but that doesn't mean it's illegal for me to worry about my daughter. I haven't gotten to for nearly twenty-eight years. I'm a bit out of practice, so I apologize," she hissed, "if I seem _overbearing_ to you."

Snow twisted away from Emma, stepping ahead with Mulan to take the lead of their group. Emma sighed, running her hands through her hair—a nervous tic that she was sure would make her go bald. She froze, feeling a heavy gaze on her. Emma looked up to catch Aurora eyeing her curiously.

"What?" she said angrily.

Aurora squared her shoulders, pursing her lips. "You should be grateful for her. Where I come from, family is a rare blessing, something I envy you for now."

Emma rolled her eyes. The last thing she needed was a lecture on respect from a prim and proper princess. God. She probably had her parents tuck her into bed every night until she decided to prick her damn finger on a spinning wheel. Or…lock her in a tower, or…whatever Aurora's fate had been. Emma frowned, suddenly realizing she knew _nothing_ about these characters, or their stories. She let out a long breath. "You're probably right."

"Quick, you two!" Mulan yelled from ahead. "We can't afford any dead weight. Hook may be tracking us as well as Cora."

Emma noticeably tensed at the pirate's name, clenching her jaw and fingers simultaneously. The leather brace had engulfed her arm in flames once more, and Emma half wished her arm would just burn itself off. It was bad enough to have him mentally jarring her, but physically as well. Her anxiety, unfortunately, did not go unnoticed by Aurora, whose gaze had narrowed considerably.

"You have feelings for him?" she asked quietly once they had covered more distance after Emma and Mulan. Aurora's head was cocked to the side, as though the angle would help her better discern Emma's emotions. But Emma had learned a thing or two from a certain buccaneer about being an open book, and she'd be _damned_ if a cocky princess would be able to read her too.

So she decided to play dumb. "For who?" She stepped over a fallen log, reaching back to help Aurora trip clumsily over its limbs.

Aurora smiled, speaking patiently as though to a child. Emma _hated_ it. "For Captain Hook. He seems to care for you a great deal."

"Yeah. So you said earlier. But no. I make it a point not to sleep with conniving thieves." Well, that was a lie. Emma's heart raced painfully at the thought of Neal, but she quickly shoved all thoughts of him aside, focusing instead on quickening her pace. Aurora had to trot to keep up.

Emma allowed herself a quick glance at the inquisitive princess. She appeared puzzled. How adorable. "I didn't ask anything about _sleeping_ with him; heaven knows why you would want to spend the night with a man without the settlement of marriage." Innocent too. Even cuter. "What I meant was, do you _like_ him? Would you be affected if," Aurora paused, her tone somehow menacing despite her guiltless features, "something were to happen to him?"

Emma gritted her teeth. She was quickly tiring of Aurora's poking and prodding into her private life. Not that, of course, there was anything to hide.

Aurora continued. "He was only trying to help, you know. He wants to help you get back to your son. I'm sure he could learn to care for the boy too."

"I'm not sure things will be any different regarding my son when we get back," Emma snapped. "His mother will make sure of it."

"I have no doubt that Regina would share him with you after this."

Emma froze for a millisecond before pressing ahead of the princess. Her heart had stopped cold—not only because of the sickening abundance of optimism in Aurora's voice, but at the mention of Regina—the mere use of her name, a name she was _positive_ Aurora could not connect to Henry. Unless… She glanced over her shoulder at Aurora, who was diligently trying to keep up, her head tucked down as she focused on _not_ falling flat on her face. _No_, Emma thought. _That's not possible. _

_Yes, and it's not exactly possible that you're here in a land of fairytales, having just climbed down from a giant beanstalk and running off to find magical octopus ink, either, Emma._

Emma winced. Her conscience had begun to take the form of _his_ voice. But, much to her chagrin, it was right. Things that hardly seemed possible before should not be so easily dismissed _here._

For the next few hours, Emma kept all conversation with Aurora at a level of zero, gradually transitioning from the ever popular one-word responses to complete silence, ignoring further inquiries and instead offering nothing but the icy Cold Shoulder at every mention of the pain-in-her-ass Captain Hook. Aurora, ignorant as ever, pursued her inquiries as if on a quest, dividing her questions between Emma and their valiant leaders.

"Are we nearly there?"

_No._

"May we rest for a bit?"

_No._

"How much further?"

_No._

"Where are we going?"

_No._

Those were the questions Emma could, albeit somewhat annoyed, swat away with a clipped negative, whether or not it made sense. It was the requests directed specifically towards her which set her on edge:

"Where do you think Hook is?"

_Stuck in a bottomless pit, I hope._

"Do you think Hook's coming for you, Emma?"

_If he wants to be met with a swift knee to his dick, then by all means…_

"Will you allow Hook to travel back with us to Storybook?"

_Story_brook_, and like hell. _

"Do you trust him?"

Emma could not come up with a mental retort for that one. Because, if she were being honest with herself, she didn't quite _know_, exactly. She didn't want to, and her reasoning had begged her not to atop that beanstalk. But some small part of her…_maybe_…recognized that, perhaps once, just once, there may have been something in him _to _trust. In the past. No, Emma frowned. Definitely not now. Two-faced twit was probably making up with Cora. She could almost imagine them holding hands, skipping through the forest. Emma's face cracked into a twinge of a smile at the mental image of the two frolicking together.

"That smile on your face…are you thinking of him?" Aurora perked up.

Emma growled, rounding on her. "Do you EVER just SH—"

"Emma!" Mary Margaret scolded. Emma glared at her before turning a sneer back on Aurora.

"Zip. It. _Princess._ Or I'll do it for you." Mulan intervened, drawing her sword halfway as she stepped between Emma and Aurora. Emma could have sworn Aurora leaned around Mulan's shoulder to smirk darkly at her before resuming her hiding place behind her companion's protective stance.

Emma raised her hands in surrender. "No more inquisitions. _You_ escort her." Fed up, she twisted around and stalked in the direction they were headed, Snow at her side. Mulan swiftly re-sheathed her weapon and took her friend by the arm, falling a few paces behind to keep Aurora out of Emma's reach. And _hopefully_, she thought, out of earshot.

When they were far enough away, Snow spoke up. "What's the matter with you, Emma? You're so…you _seem_ so agitated. Does it have something to do with whatever happened up on that beanstalk? Between you and Hook?"

Emma groaned. "There is _nothing_ between us, Mary Margaret. I told you. I made friends with the giant. I _played nice_, and he's detaining Hook for me so we'd have a ten hours' start on him. We—_I_—can't be responsible for him. He was expecting a ride back home with us. Where he was planning on killing Rumpelstiltskin, and," she swallowed thickly, chest suddenly constricting in pain, "God knows who else. I can't take a chance with that. I'm the sheriff, for Christ's sake. I might as well polish his hook for him, hand over Gold in handcuffs, and say _have at him_, but make sure you play nicely with the others. Like locking a kid in a room full of candy for hours and telling him _not _to eat any. The hell with that. It's _my_ town, and I can't—"

"Alright, _alright._ I get it, Emma, I truly do. We can't take him with us. Believe me, Charming would have a sword in him the moment we returned. But, sweetie, it's almost like you're suffering from guilt. You verbally defend yourself quite well, but physically…you wear your heart on your sleeve. I blame myself," Snow blushed, bowing her head with the hint of a smile. "You must get that from me."

Emma stared at her hard for a moment before returning her attention to the path ahead. Suddenly, she breathed the words that had been plaguing her for days. "I dream of him."

Snow's jaw dropped. "_Emma._ He would by _no_ means make a suitable hus—"

"Nononono_no._ I meant. I've been having dreams. Or, nightmares. Ever since we left the beanstalk three days ago. And he's always in them. He starts out in my head, and then he's _really _there, and by the end, in every one, he's killed…there's blood on my chest, and on his hook, and…I'm usually in the process of dying by the time I wake up."

She glanced at Snow, whose pallor had gone shockingly white. "Are you sure," she breathed, "are you sure it's _you_ who he's killed? And are you even sure he's killed you?"

Emma shrugs. "Does it matter? Each time, he physically hurts me. I can feel it. And when I wake up, I still feel it." She pursed her lips, glancing down at the leather bracer. _Surely_ she was losing her mind. "And when I'm awake…I still feel him. In my head. He won't talk when I'm awake, but I can _feel_—"

"We're here!" Mulan shouted, dragging a breathless Aurora up to the pair. "That's the cave where they held him, isn't it?"

Snow unwillingly tore her gaze away from Emma. She nodded sternly. "His cell's in there." The mouth of the cave was hardly what Emma would call inviting. Stalactites and stalagmites stretched together like a gaping hole with teeth. Mulan marched ahead, withdrawing her sword and making quick work of clearing the entrance. Snow followed her lead, breaking down the sickles.

"This isn't too far from Snow's castle…" Aurora mused aloud. Emma narrowed her eyes at the princess, who offered her a warm smile. Something was off with her. Way off.

"We're in," Snow shouted over her shoulder. Mulan pressed ahead into the cave. Emma took one step towards the cave. Then balked. Her entire arm was engulfed in flames, licking their way through her veins. The pain seared its way to her shoulder, but instantly calmed the moment Emma doubled over and backed up a few paces. Aurora had gone ahead of her. Emma thanked God no one had noticed. Especially the Inquisitor from Hell. She took a step forward again. The torture returned with vengeance, this time invading her muscles. She could _feel_ him, an icy hand wrapping its way around her wrist and twisting. A painful opposition to an Indian rug burn, Emma thought wryly. Amidst the drumming in her head, she heard him. Loud and clear. _"No." _

Her eyes widened. She knew better than to look around her, because she knew he wasn't there, but in her head—yet instincts begged her to take a quick look anyway. Nothing. Just the trees. No movement. No Hook.

She tried another step, wincing against the bracer's grip. "_Back away, lass." _

_No, _you_ back the fuck away, Hook. _

He chuckled. The bastard was actually _chuckling_ inside her head. _"Little thing has a mouth, does she?"_

_I'm sick and tired of your games. So leave me the hell alone. I want to go into the cave_, she finished rather stubbornly.

"_No caves for you, darling."_

_What the hell makes you think you have a say in what I do? And why has your vocabulary suddenly expanded? You were a broken record in my dreams._

"_Why, Swan, I'm flattered."_

Emma's nostrils flared. _Of what, exactly? _

She could practically hear the grin in his tone. _"You dream of me." _

Emma ignored him. "I'm going into the cave," she said aloud, "and you can't fucking stop me."

"_Don't be long, love."_

_And why ever the hell not? _

"_We're close."_

Emma was certain ice was flowing through her veins now. We. He'd said "we". Him and Cora. So he'd done it, then. He'd gone and made up with the wicked witch of the west. There was no going back now, of that she was certain. They had to get the ink and get the hell out. Before Team Rocket made its special debut. Without further warning, Emma surged ahead, sprinting through the mouth of the cave and doing her best to work up a mental block against the pain.

As she wound her way through the turns, she wondered when she had become a telepathic freak. Or him. No, if anything, _he_ was the freak. Emma was merely an innocent bystander; he was clearly taking advantage of said innocent, human mind. Untouched by magic. It had to be proximity, she decided. If he was close, like he'd said, maybe whatever mental connection he had created was stronger now. Like a walkie talkie, or cell phone. Emma rolled her eyes at the thought. _Great. Captain Hook has me on speed dial._ So, not only could he infiltrate her dreams, but he was flat-out invading her thoughts too. _Nosey asshole, ever hear of privacy? _

"Emma, where have you been?!" Snow exclaimed as Emma flew around a final curve and nearly ran her mother over.

"Mary Margaret, we have to get out of here. Now."

"But the ink—"

"Forget it. We have to go. Right. Now." The urgency in Emma's tone left little room for argument. But Snow refused to back down.

"This ink is our only way of getting home, Emma."

"I know, but Hook—"

"Oh, so _that's_ what you were doing? Taking a power nap?" Emma was shocked by Snow's display of bitterness, and something inside her flared at the accusation of her _willingly_ contacting Hook.

"_No_," she choked out through clenched teeth. "He's decided to bother me when I'm conscious now, too. But that's beside the point. He told me they're coming."

Snow cocked her head to the side. "Why would he warn you?"

"I don't know," Emma admitted.

Mulan spoke up, "It could be a trap." Snow nodded in agreement, keeping her eyes on Emma. She suddenly felt like a child, and she half-marveled at Mary Margaret's ability to make her feel such a thing. She had definitely gotten _too_ good at the mother thing.

"Mary Margaret, you have to trust me on this. I don't know why, but I believe him. And we can't take any more chances with this. We have to pick our best option to get back home."

"Yes, to your son," Aurora broke in.

Emma paused, turning to the princess who had interrupted one too many bloody times. "Yeah. My kid." She narrowed her gaze icily, determined to prove just how _off_ Aurora was. "And what's his name, again?" Mary Margaret stepped forward, obviously worried about Emma's mental state, but she quickly shushed her with a raised hand, keeping her eyes steadily on the princess.

Aurora looked away, rubbing her arms as if from cold. Stalling. _She doesn't know_, Emma realized. _She couldn't know._

Within a flash, Emma had Aurora pinned up against the wall, Snow's sword to her neck. Snow yelled at her to let Aurora go, but she was quickly distracted in detaining Mulan from attacking Emma. Emma's voice was dangerously low. "What's his name?"

Her eyes were wide with fright. "I—I don't…_what?_"

"_Let her go!_" Mulan screamed. Snow kicked her weapon from her hand and was struggling to hold her back.

"Emma, _what_ is going on?!"

She ignored them. "His _name_. My son's name."

Aurora was shaking uncontrollably. "I can't…why are you…_don't do this._"

And then, out of nowhere: _"It isn't her fault, lass." _

Emma's eyes narrowed, but she was no longer speaking to Aurora. Or anyone in the cave. "Then why can't she tell me his name, Goddamn it?!"

"_Because Cora doesn't know his name."_

And instantly, Emma knew. She pushed herself away from Aurora, keeping her sword pointed in the princess' direction. She glanced towards Snow and Mulan. "Cora. It's Cora. She's got her under her control somehow. Brainwashed. I had my suspicions, but—"

"Cora didn't touch her!" Mulan shouted.

"We only know what Aurora's told us! Don't you get that? She's controlling her somehow, like a puppet. Magic food or something. _I don't know_, but I _know_ that isn't her. She met Henry in the dream. She should have _no_ problem saying his name, unless it isn't her."

"You're frightening her! With a sword pointed at my throat, I doubt I would be able to recall a child's name either."

"Emma's right," Snow said hollowly. "You don't forget those dreams easily. She should remember." But there was no more time for arguing. Emma's spine went rigid at the sound of muffled footsteps. Her heart leapt in her chest, and the leather bracer on her wrist seemed to thunder uncontrollably in tandem with its beat at the realization of Hook being so near. She could hear Snow shouting behind her, searching the cell frantically while Mulan kept Aurora in place. Snow was yelling at her to help, but she sounded so far away. Her feet felt like lead, rooting her to the spot as she stared in horror at the brightening mouth of the cave. Torches. They were getting closer.

"_Run." _

_No! _Emma gritted her teeth, frustrated with her inability to move. _I'm not going to leave them. _

"_Damnit, Swan! You bloody, buggering—"_

Snow suddenly yelled in surprise, effectively distracting Emma from Hook's string of vulgar curses inside her head as he continued berating her. "I found it! The ink, it's here!"

A small vial was pushed into Emma's hand. She felt dazed, as though it had taken every ounce of energy she had left to turn away from the mouth of the cave. She pocketed it without thinking. And in a matter of seconds, everything seemed to happen at once.

A band of men, their eyes glazed and movements stiff, rounded the final corner with swords outstretched, leering at the women.

Snow shoved Emma forward through an alternate passage, Mulan close at their heels with Aurora in tow.

Snow screamed something about splitting up. Emma frowned, somehow understanding that it was _wrong_ to separate. They needed to stick together. But before she could open her mouth, Snow was charging to the left, and Mulan and Aurora sprinted ahead, leaving Emma to her own devices. She blinked, clearing away the fog inside her head. The voices were growing louder. "Come on, Emma, _move_!" she hissed at herself, forcing her leaded legs forward one at a time until she was racing hastily through the woods, leaping over fallen logs and weaving her way through branches. One snagged at her cheek, drawing blood.

After some time, Emma's pace slowed, entirely unsure where she was. She glanced around. She cupped her hands over her mouth and yelled. "Mary Margaret! Mulan!" Her calls went unanswered, and Emma half feared she was drawing unwanted attention to herself. She waited on bated breath. The sound of heavy footfalls was her only response. Emma's heart sunk. They were too heavy for Mary Margaret, but she couldn't see a damn thing for the trees. She had no weapon, just a small jar of ink. _What the hell am I supposed to do, write them to death? _Her eyes caught a glimpse of something moving. Darting past the trees in front of her. She swerved and sprinted diagonal to the direction she had come, avoiding whatever was pursuing her.

It was too late.

Her foot caught on a root.

She was airborne.

Her body propelled itself towards a tree, catching her shoulder with a sickening echo. Before she could pull herself up, or roll for cover, something was on her.

She kicked, elbowed, punched, but all she struck was air. And then:

"Lie bloody _still, _will you?"

That voice.

His voice.

Emma groaned.

_I am in the middle of a forest. Being chased by zombies. And Captain Hook is lying on top of me. _

…_Goddamn it. _

* * *

**A/N: I hope you all enjoyed the first chapter. Feel free to review and let me know what you think! I am still looking for a beta, so if anyone is interested, as always, let me know via review or PM. **


	3. Chapter 2

**I must say, I had a blast writing this chapter. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. **

* * *

Chapter Two

"_**The broken locks were a warning**_

_**You got inside my head**_

_**I tried my best to be guarded**_

_**I'm an open book instead.**_

_**I still see your reflection**_

_**Inside of my eyes**_

_**That are looking for a purpose, **_

_**They're still looking for life"**_

_**x**_

_**x**_

_**x**_

Emma Swan was _quite_ certain, that if someone had told her an hour ago she would be writhing (albeit uncomfortably and more along the lines of struggling to escape) beneath one Captain Hook, she would have deliberated between laughing in their face or giving them a black eye for making such a horrible joke.

But alas.

There she was.

Trapped beneath the surprisingly heavy pirate. _God, ever hear of Jenny Craig, you hooked monstrosity? 'Cause you sure as hell aren't trying to avoid Paula Dean's dishes…_

"Lie _still_," his voice hissed for the umpteenth time, grappling for purchase above her wriggling form. Emma had tried crawling, but he'd merely pinned her to the spot. When she attempted a half push-up to throw him off, his right hand had dug into her side, as if knowing _exactly_ where her weakness was. And she would collapse, in a fit of angry, choked giggles, still reeling from the fact that Hook had just tickled her. And reeling more from the idea that he'd known exactly where to touch. It sickened her. And, much to her chagrin, oddly delighted her.

_It's just because he's been inside your head. Of course he'd know. _

Emma mentally sighed, rearing her head back only to dully make contact with his shoulder. He'd moved his head just in time, growling low in her ear. _But still… It's weird. But…a good weird? _

_No. _No, _Emma Swan_, her conscience scolded. Which was rather disturbing, as it was still in his British lilt._ You get ahold of your damn hormones and get him the fuck off you. Before you bloody well do something both of us regret. Proximity's clouding your judgment. Keep it together, Swan._

"Can't we," Emma twisted her head to the side, spitting out a mouthful of dirt that had recently been devoured when he'd shoved her head into the ground during their struggle. "Can't we just _talk_ about this?"

Hook snorted. "Yes, darling, because you are ever such the talkative woman. We'll discuss this over tea, shall we?" He huffed, rearranging his weight. "Bugger off."

"I would," Emma scoffed, "except _something_ is holding me the hell down." Her mouth instantly met dirt again, but she managed to croak out something along the lines of "fat" and "bastard" between spitting out mouthfuls.

"I," Hook began boldly, "am most certainly _not_ overweight, my dear."

"What tastes good to the lips…"

Hook growled, spotting her splayed hands as she attempted to upright herself again. Emma fell back on her chest hard when he swiped her arms out from under her.

"Just saying," she huffed, trying to regain her breath, "you might…want to lay off…the rum. Empty calories and…whatnot."

"Breathless for me already, love?" Emma grimaced. Delicious tremors were making their way up and down her spine as his hot breath met her ear.

"Not interested," she gasped, "in one-handed…chauvinistic…bastards…"

"Ah, but if you only knew what my one hand was capable of, you'd be begging—"

Emma twisted beneath him, effectively flipping onto her back and driving her knee hard into its intended target. His groin. He winced, baring his teeth as he attempted to lift his pelvis and pin down her legs with his own, trapping her arms above her head within his hook. At least she could breathe now. She sucked in a deep breath to yell for help. Or scream rape. She wasn't quite sure who out there in the middle of an enchanted forest would be interested in preventing sexual harassment.

Hook clapped his good hand over her lips, staring her down. "Will you be _quiet?_" he nearly roared, wedging the toes of his boots into the dirt as he dug in against her. The pair froze as a dozen footsteps echoed nearby, traipsing right past their compromising position. Hook glanced around, making sure they were alone again before returning his icy attention to Emma. She, much to his barely concealed rage, appeared rather unaffected by the fact they had almost been caught. "Blimey, I couldn't get you to bloody talk atop a beanstalk, and here you are running your damn mouth. For _once_ in your existence, Emma, will you hold your tongue?!"

But, like all women, when men make unrealistic demands of them, Emma did the exact _opposite_ of what she was told.

Hook grimaced. "Darling," he bit out through gritted teeth, leaning in so their noses were nearly touching, his hand still clapped over her lips. "Am I to understand that, in retaliation, you just _licked_ me?"

With his hand still over her mouth, Emma could hardly form a smartass comeback of any sort, so she merely stared back, eyes wide with pseudo innocence. His own rolled halfheartedly.

"Of course you did."

Hook held her gaze for a moment. Emma settled for looking anywhere _but_ him. There was a growing heat in her stomach, something akin to butterflies, but Emma would be damned if she'd let the little winged things continue to flutter inside her like some hormonal teenager. She tried to rearrange herself, but instead found she had only assisted in aligning their bodies _too_ perfectly. Every inch of his lengthy form waist-down pressed against her. Emma froze. Her eyes, suddenly burdened like magnets, automatically pulled themselves to meet his steely, relentless gaze. For once, he was watching her carefully. Reserved. Quiet. Completely unlike the pompous ass he'd let her know him for. But that's just it, she reminded herself—she _didn't_ know him. And, she realized with gritted teeth, she wasn't _going_ to let him know _her._ Two separate spheres, worlds apart, and it had to stay that way. She wanted it to stay that way.

…_don't I?_

She frowned. There, in that moment, Emma Swan wasn't quite sure _what_ she wanted. Suddenly, a familiar flame brought her out of her thoughts. She glanced up. Sometime during her subdued reverie, he had replaced his hook for his right hand, and had managed to entwine his fingers over hers, still rooting her to the spot but in a much more intimate way. His leather brace was just barely brushing hers. And Emma could have sworn she literally saw sparks igniting between the two cuffs.

Her eyes drifted steadily back to his, unable to ignore the pull of his steel-gray eyes. Something deep, so deep she was sure would never be proven by X-ray, reminded her gently that maybe, just maybe, she _didn't_ want to ignore him. Emma's chest was still heaving with their earlier struggle, falling and rising to meet his revealed skin.

It was then, so intimately pressed together, that Hook so intimately invaded her mind. It was as though he'd thrown a door open into her thoughts, strolling commandingly into the room of her head, folding his arms and demanding, _"Don't fight this." _

Emma let out a deep breath, the wind from her lungs lightly tousling his hair.

"_Don't fight _me_." _

He leaned in closer, the side of his nose just barely brushing hers in something that comically resembled an Eskimo kiss. Hook held her with his eyes. Emma was waiting for some cock-blocking rhetoric from him but none came. Just silence mixed with the exchange of heated breaths.

_I have to go,_ she thought. _I can't do this. I'm sorry—_

"_Let's not start that again, shall we?" _his voice snapped angrily inside her head. Outwardly, he was a mask of calm, a contradiction which unnerved Emma to the core. Talk about one hell of a poker face.

Emma sighed. _So you really can read my thoughts, then? Is this bracelet some stupid telepathic thing?_

Silence. His eyes closed. Emma noticed, for the first time, dark circles pooling beneath his them. His entire face, in fact, looked rugged, exhausted, _defeated._ Emma felt something inside her heart pinch painfully—she felt _sorry_ for him. Why, God only knows. But she did. She felt tired for him, as though she were aging beneath the weight of Hook.

As the warmth from the leather spread, Emma felt herself melt into a puddle beneath him. More of his weight was settling against her, and she, much to her mortification, felt her body physically adjust and _accept_ the bastard. She bit her lip as his forehead bent slowly to meet hers, eyes still closed. Was it a trap? Emma glanced to the side of them, illogically afraid of having gained a walking dead audience. But they were alone.

Emma's wheels were quickly turning, and she was about to work up enough courage against her body's will to shove him off when it seemed as though the world around them exploded. The smooth heat of his forehead met hers and Emma's universe, inside and out, vanished.

A faint humming noise met her ears. She felt weightless as soothing warmth starting at her head invaded her entire body. Something brushed against her lips. Fingers. There were fingers gliding over her lips, cheeks, temples, hair—everywhere. Ghosting, memorizing, distracting her from the whirlwind of chaos as the gentle whirring in her ears escalated to a roaring.

Emma twisted her head away from it, but someone gripped her jaw firmly, holding her in place. Her eyes wrenched open. Hook was gone. Emma forced her foggy brain to jumpstart itself, squinting in the darkness. Hook was gone, and so was everything else. Complete darkness.

_Hook? _She swallowed thickly. _What the hell did you do? _Her voice sounded impossibly small. She half wondered if he had blinded her, but her thoughts were quickly corrected. There was a soft scuffle of footsteps. Emma turned on her heel and saw him, making his way through the thick darkness.

Neal.

The only thing she could see was Neal.

He was looking at her with that Goddamn, lop-sided grin of his that always made her gut flip-flop. She was dreaming. She _had_ to be dreaming. When the _fuck_ did she fall asleep underneath that one-handed, pompous asshole?

"Hey." Neal approached her slowly, as if she was some wild animal. She certainly felt like one. Her heart was racing, adrenaline pumping through every limb. She willed herself to stay put, yet with every thump of her heart her body lunged slightly away from Neal.

"This isn't possible." Her hollow voice echoed in the room inside her head. "You left. You left _me._"

His grin spread, playing the ever-so-innocent douchebag. "What're you talking about, babe?"

"You abandoned us. Me and Hen—," her voice broke off. Her fingers fisted her hair, shoving the heels of her palms to her head. She gritted her teeth.

"Emma?"

"Shut. Up. This isn't real. You aren't real."

He spread his arms, glancing around. "I'm as real as anything else in here."

Emma looked up to where she imagined the sky would be. Her eyes were red-rimmed and hot. "Hook! This isn't funny! I want to get out of here, go to—"

"Tallahassee, baby?"

Emma's heart constricted painfully. She couldn't address him, couldn't look at him. She backed up slowly, folding her arms around herself. "Please, stop. I can't. Can't do this." Emma fought back years of regret in her words, tried to mask every doubt behind her face, but she felt completely bare and naked there on that black stage. She continued mindlessly pacing backwards until she bumped into a warm chest—Hook's, by the guess of it, as one hand came down to splay over her stomach, while a hooked one dipped over her shoulder beneath her neck. It was protective, she supposed. Not threatening. But a stance that was firm and commanding, an embrace that screamed _mine._ Emma shuddered.

"So this is him, then? The one you loved…once," he paused, mimicking her own hesitation from the beanstalk. She could feel his hot breath against her ear, stirring her hair lightly. She hated how her body trilled in response.

Neal was still standing before them. One hand was held up halfway, outstretched and inviting. He quirked one brow, patient but completely misunderstanding her fear. Or ignoring it. "Fuck. Off." She meant it to both of them, really, but neither seemed phased by her snarled vulgarity.

"This is," Hook leaned in closer, brushing his temple against hers before applying more pressure, pressing their heads together. "Neal," he finished. He glanced down at Emma to await some sign of recognition or acknowledgement, but she gave him none.

She finally shook her head. "No. _This_ is messed up. Get me out of here. Now." She twisted her head so their eyes met. But he wasn't looking at her. He was staring blatantly at her lips. Emma suddenly realized just how close they were. _Too_ close.

"Mom?"

Emma jerked her head back around, Hook following her steely gaze. Her breath hitched. Where Neal had been standing, a different form appeared, mirroring his earlier stance. _Henry._

"Ah," Hook smiled, tightening his grip. "_Henry_."

Emma's face fell. God, she was giving too much away. Letting in too much… _Wait. _That's_ what he's doing? Breaking into my head like some delinquent? _"This isn't real, is it?" she swallowed back the lump in her throat. Her melancholic submissiveness was quickly replaced with flaming rage. "Get _out_ of my head. Now." Her tone left no room for argument.

"This is the child you abandoned?" It came out more as a statement, though—accusatory and laced with an undertone of menace. Did Hook feel some sort of connection to Henry, something akin to sympathy? Emma bit her lip, frowning. Maybe they shared more in common than she thought. But regardless.

"You know nothing. Let me go."

"But Emma, _we make quite the team._"

"Let go of me, or I swear to God—"

"You'll _what_? I don't think you have much to bargain with here, my dear," he spit out at her, shoving Emma violently away from him. Caught unaware, she fell to her knees, chest tight and screaming with a sickeningly familiar pain. She knew what she would find if she touched it. She knew what she would see if she glanced at his hook. Blood. Her blood.

Emma pulled herself upright and moved to block Hook from her subconscious Henry. Hook merely raised his brows, raising his left arm to allow the ruby-red liquid to drip steadily, catching some unseen ray of moonlight in her brain.

"I know this is a dream," Emma snapped, "so fucking stop it with the dramatics. You can't hurt—" her words were cut short with a painful wheezing noise escaping from her lungs. Emma could hardly breathe over the agony racing up her chest, arms, and head like lightning. She winced but kept her face stoic for the most part. She would show him just how little any Goddamn man could hurt her. She was determined. And in a roar of indignation, Emma Swan charged Hook.

She tackled him straight down through a nonexistent floor. They fell for an eternity. She caught glimpses of a dark-haired beauty, adorned in beads and a corset. Wild, untamed tresses, and eyes as violent as the sea. Emma grinned madly as the wind whipped past and around them.

"Is that her?" she demanded, voice low and feral. "_Milah?_"

He was silent, dread washing over his face as he tried to keep his eyes trained on the woman he had lost. But Emma was grappling with him as they fell down the endless tunnel with the vision of Milah following them. Emma was determined to make him feel pain, make him hurt. Make him bawl like a helpless kid. She was done playing the victim.

"You couldn't save her, could you? Just stood by while Gold took _everything_ you had, I bet." Emma paused. She regretted her words instantly. But she was so tired and angry of and at everything. She couldn't help herself. "Did she beg for her life, Hook?" her voice was soft, cutting to the core like a knife. "You were too late." Emma gripped his jaw in her hand, commanding his attention. His eyes had hardened, jaw set and teeth bared before her. But she ignored it. "_I_ was too late, you know. Too late to see what he'd done. He. Left. Me. I was too late…and then I was pregnant. And I was too late to know how to raise a kid." Emma felt as though she were babbling incoherently, but something inside her was being pulled out and she felt she _needed_ him to hear this before everything was gone. She glared at him, hard. "Whatever you're planning. Whatever misplaced sense of heroic justice you think you possess. Drop it. You're too late. You can't save this," she waved around them, at Milah's frozen, imagined face. "You can't," she whispered more hollowly, "save _me_."

Before even considering the consequences, Emma let go of Hook. He remained suspended in the air. And Emma fell.

In a blur, she realized she was back—awake. She felt wet soil seeping in and dampening her clothes. Grass stabbed at the back of her neck. And Hook hovered over her. Eyes like ice glared daggers into hers. He was angry. No, angry was an understatement. He was _furious_. Enraged at her for turning his ridiculous trick back on himself. If he could break into her head, then why couldn't she? Damn it, this wasn't a one-way street. "Stupid bint," he snarled, jumping to his feet. Emma glared at him from the ground.

His good hand was on her in seconds, gripping her by her jacket collar and hauling her up and against a tree. She winced as his fisted hand dug into her chest. She nearly yelped—it felt _real._ The dream, whatever he had done—it felt entirely too real.

"Now that our lovely tête**-**à**-**tête is finished," he trailed off. All charm had vanished from his cold gaze, eyes ablaze with fury. Without warning, he jerked Emma back against his chest, hook digging into her neck with his free hand digging in his coat pocket. "Ah, here it is." He withdrew something small, pinched between his forefingers. Before Emma could even _think_ about what would happen, he was suddenly forcing the object down her throat, followed by his open flask pouring a bitter liquid down her throat. The heel of his hand came up beneath her jaw, index finger and thumb clamping over her nose.

_Great_, Emma thought, working the searing liquid and its accompanied drug around in her mouth. _Captain Hook's trying to roofie me. Definitely one for the story books. God_, she scrunched up her face, _remind me never to drink rum again._

"Swallow," he ordered bitterly. Emma tried to push the object out but it was no use. Her air was running out and he had her jaw and struggling body in a tight bind. Glaring daggers at him from the side of her eyes, she obeyed, wincing as it made its cold way down her throat. The liquid burned, settling in a heated pit in her stomach. "There's a good girl."

He released her. Emma caught herself against the tree, choking. "What the hell was that?"

Hook's lips were pursed, eyeing her carefully. "Liquid courage."

"Bullshit," Emma spat, wiping her wrist across her drenched lips. Hook merely raised his brows, keeping a close watch as if afraid she might try to force everything back up. Emma had half a mind to, but she was too late. The Goddamn zombies had returned.

Hook cast a hasty glance at Emma before stepping in front of her, blocking her from view. They were yards away, closing in from the darkness. "Stay behind me," he instructed, hand on the hilt of his sword. But he wasn't withdrawing it. Why wasn't he pulling it out and waving it around? Emma frowned, ducking into an impossibly small shape behind his back. So. He was really on Cora's side, then? They wouldn't hurt him?

A scream broke her thoughts.

Mary Margaret.

She was in danger. Without thinking, Emma made a run for it, Hook yelling after her. He managed to grab her arm but she ripped it free. His hook caught her arm this time, forcing her to stumble but she pulled forward regardless. "I have to help them!" she screamed back at him, using all her strength to resist his opposing weight. All thoughts of what he had done to her had vanished. The only thing she could think about was her mother. Emma's wrist slipped through the cold metal and she took one step forward. His hook slashed out again, nicking her side this time.

"Bloody well listen when I tell you to, _sweetheart_," he snapped.

Emma glared down at his hook, slightly bloodied. Every fear of her dreams came rushing back to her. He was here to kill her. She had played with fire long enough. "You're not in charge here."

"Oh, aren't I?" he cocked a brow, narrowing his icy gaze. "Where's your compass, then, lass?"

Emma padded her pockets but it was gone. The small jar of ink was missing as well. "_You fu—"_

"Now, now," he tsked, "now's not the time for chit-chat, darling."

Mary Margaret screamed again. Hook appeared startlingly calm. Emma was fighting for breath, eyes searching the forest. She felt him approach and envelop her. She unconsciously pulled away from him, but he only pulled closer. His breath was hot on her ear as his teeth lightly grazed against her lobe.

"Oh, and Emma? Sweet dreams."

Her world went dark.

**x**

**x**

**x**

* * *

**Review?**


	4. Chapter 3

**Blown away by your support. Special thanks to amz – 123, mali86, Lisa1972, FaithonHold, lauran13, Maiqu, theswangirl, Featherstrike, lyricsinmotion, Psychadelia Child, guests, and dozens of others reading this fic. To those of you confused by the plot, I promise all will be explained soon, through the next two chapters, so don't give up hope yet. The story's told from Emma's point of view, and as such, the audience needs to be somewhat just as confused as she is until things are further revealed. I'm not much into omniscient narration, and, in my opinion, plots tend to be better cliff-hangers without it. Enjoy! **

* * *

Chapter Three

"_**Weep for yourself, my man, **_

_**You'll never be what is in your heart**_

_**Weep Little Lion Man, **_

_**You're not as brave as you were at the start **_

_**Rate yourself and rake yourself, **_

_**Take all the courage you have left**_

_**Wasted on fixing all the problems **_

_**That you made in your own head…"**_

**x**

**x**

**x**

Emma was sure that if Hook put her in one more dream, she'd kill him.

Hands down.

No hesitation.

She'd keep his damn hook as a souvenir. Use it as a shower curtain holder. Or coat hanger. Emma grinned—or she would have if she could wake up. She was trapped somewhere between conscious and unconscious. And that Goddamn pirate was keeping her there. She could feel him, pressing at the front of her mind like some invisible roadblock warning her off.

Her head ached fiercely, pounding to a rhythm she could not keep up with. Her chest was screaming at her for some kind of reprieve, but she could not give it any—because she didn't know _how._ The leather brace constricted tightly around her arm. Reminding her, she supposed, that this was real. Like a pinch that wouldn't stop pinching. Emma felt like throwing up. And she hoped to God, as the world around her jostled lightly back and forth, tucking her tightly against a disgustingly familiar chest—she hoped to _God_ she puked all over Hook. Let him clean up _her_ mess for once.

The feeling settled, though, as his arms tightened their grip to steady her rocking body against his. _Damn._ _Dumbass read my mind._

"_Then perhaps I'm not quite the dumbass you portray me to be, darling." _

His voice. In her head. Again. She glared at absolutely nothing in her mind. Her thoughts flitted briefly to the brace on her arm and she wondered if cutting it off would resemble severing an umbilical cord.

The idea was cut short, though, by a wall. She felt it shoot up around the notion, quarantining her away from any and all ideas of mental amnesty from Hook. The thought vanished and was quickly forgotten. _"Not getting away from me so easily, love." _Emma mentally frowned, frustrated with losing whatever it was she had just lost. It was _right there_, she could feel it at her fingertips. But Hook had taken something—it—away. Something to leaf-blow him the hell out of her mind.

_Give it back!_ she shouted at him inwardly. _And,_ she groaned as her stomach did another somersault, _put me down._

"_I'd be happy to give you _anything_ but that."_ His suggestive tone raked over her spine like fingernails, deliciously inviting.

_Bloody bugger off, you buggering idiot._

She could have sworn she heard his eyebrows raise in amusement. _"More like me every moment, dear Emma? We're getting to be quite the peas in the pod."_

_You'd be the last pea I'd _ever_ share a pod with._

"_As long as I'm strung to you, m'lady, I would gladly be the pea to abandon his pod."_

Emma subconsciously rolled her eyes. _Bet you say that to all the peas. _She let out a breath resembling something of a laugh—she couldn't believe she was having such a ridiculous conversation in her head with him. She sucked in a deeper breath and felt herself swallow. Well, that was good. At least he wasn't controlling _all_ of her bodily functions. She fleetingly wondered now if he could just do something about Mother Nature's monthly call…

"_Yes, I must admit you're the first pea to strike my fancy. Congratulations. I would happily desert all diet of vegetation for you."_

She chortled. _Knew you were a meat-lover,_ she sneered, allowing the vulgar undertone to take root in his mind. Or hers. She wasn't quite sure _where_ she was at the moment.

_Hook? _

"_Emma?" _his voice echoed in her head.

She swallowed again, as if doing so would clear her nonexistent mental throat. _What's going on? With the mind games? And the dreams? You're inside my head, and I can't get you out. It wasn't this bad until you showed up. _

He sighed, audibly. Emma felt his chest rise and fall against her as his pace quickened, carelessly jostling her again. _"This is very far from a game, Emma. As for the dreams, I can hardly help that your subconscious desires me every…non-waking moment. And as for that last part…all I can reveal now is simply…magic."_

She growled. _That's it? That's all you have to say? Magic?!_

Hook clicked his tongue in distaste. _"Really, Emma, after all you've been through, seen and done. Surely you cease to harbor disbelief."_

_It's easy to disbelieve when it's coming from _you_,_ she said.

A pregnant pause fell between them. Emma's breath hitched at a sudden thought.

_You're carrying me. Where are we going?_

Silence.

_Goddamnit, Hook! Answer me!_

When he finally responded, it was laced with a tone of regret. _"You won't like the answer. The answer, darling Emma, will, on surface level, only prove your distrust."_

Emma snorted inside her head. _Then prove me wrong._

"_Can't." _

_Knew it._

Emma felt her body's weight plummet. He was forcing her limp form down to her feet. Voices stirred and suddenly Mary Margaret was yelling. _"Time to wake, darling." _Obediently, her eyelids cracked open, hesitant as harsh light invaded dilated pupils. Her head felt incredibly heavy; it lolled from one side to the next while she attempted to blink away the foggy vision. Fire. She was looking at a fire. Emma clenched her teeth. She willed the world to stop spinning and it slowly agreed. She could feel her stomach tightening, but as the numbness left her body, she vaguely recognized the feeling of ropes or cord constricting around her waist.

"Emma! Emma, are you alright?!" Mary Margaret's voice cried out. Trilling and desperate. Emma nodded slowly. "What happened? Where were you?"

A soft breath of hilarity escaped her chapped lips. "Wish I knew." Her gaze finally settled on Mary Margaret, narrowing her eyes hard and hoping desperately she would understand her next message. "Nightmare."

Snow's eyes flickered to someone just to the left of Emma then back. She frowned, pursing her lips. Emma's gaze traveled down the length of Mary Margaret to find her tied to a tree directly across from her. They were separated by the modest fire burning between them. Emma glanced down. She was tied to a tree as well. Her eyes shot up, finding Mary Margaret was not alone. Mulan was on her right, tied as well. Aurora stood limp and emotionless before the fire next to whom Emma could only describe as The Bitch of Bitches.

Cora.

The rope at her middle tugged harshly, redirecting Emma's attention to the fact she was tied to a tree. "Returning favors," Hook grunted, suddenly at her left shoulder. Emma's head swiveled, staring at him wide-eyed.

"You _bastard_."

Hook shrugged, admiring the tip of his hook. Red glinted in the firelight. Emma squinted her eyes at his handy weapon. It was stained with something dark. The hairs on the back of Emma's neck stood on end. _Is that…? _Emma blinked, suddenly feeling lost as the lines between fiction and reality blurred. _No._ She started to tip her chin down to look at her chest, to confirm her sick suspicions. Hook interrupted her movements with his hand, fisting her jaw and forcing her to meet his hollow gaze. She opened her mouth. "You—"

"—_four are far safer company…"_ his voice repeated loudly in her head, clear and commanding. Emma swallowed thickly. She suddenly wondered if maybe their mental walkie-talkies weren't such a bad thing. He narrowed his eyes, jaw tightening. _"…trust me. Things will be a lot smoother if you do." _Emma read him. Albeit, inside her head. But still. Loud and clear.

She just hoped to God he was really on their side. Whether he'd taken a piece of her or not.

"Hook, play nice," Cora called from behind the fire, her tone light and jovial. He shoved her head away from him, stalking past her to his place next to Cora. Emma's upper lip unconsciously rolled back in disgust. He wanted her to play a part? _Fine._ She'd fucking play his little game.

"So," Emma spat, settling her weight against the tree, leaning back to watch a dangerous scene unfold. _Here goes nothing…or everything. _"So," she repeated, keeping her heated stare on Hook. "You really are her little bitch, aren't you?" Even from her distance, she saw the muscles in his jaw working to keep back whatever jackass retort he had prepared. Emma inwardly grinned. This was too good. "What's the matter, _Jones_," she hissed. Her words caught in her mouth though as he visibly tensed. Emma's gut twisted. She had just said his name, or acknowledged a name other than Hook, for the first time. His eyes softened. There was something in his eyes at the mention of his name—sadness with a mixture of desire. Emma forced her feelings away, continuing, "Cat got your tongue? Or is it Cora?" She licked her lips; they had suddenly gone dry. "What would Milah think?"

Hook seemed just as lost as her in the illusion. He took a charging step forward, but Cora's hand shot out against his stomach, holding him back with a gentle yet firm push. She eyed him warningly. "Your time will come, Hook," she promised sympathetically. Her gaze glistened up at him, painted lips tipped into a half-hearted smile.

"What do you want, Cora?" Snow demanded, tugging at her roped confines.

"I just want to be reunited with my daughter again," she smiled, but something in the way her lips upturned caused Emma's stomach to twist and jar her courage painfully. "Surely," Cora turned towards Emma, locking gazes, "you would understand the desire to be reunited with your son. What is his name, again?" Delight drenched her face in a disgusting shadow of glee.

Emma bared her teeth, pulling with all her strength against the cords that bound her to the tree. It was no use—Hook knew his knots. Her entire body tingled with numbness and a lightheaded sensation prickled at the forefront of her mind. She felt so _tired_. Like she couldn't get enough oxygen to her…_Oh God…_

Cora continued unaware of the shock that had recently plagued Emma's face. "I should _so_ like to _properly_ introduce myself when we meet."

"You _fucking bitch_," Emma snapped, legs buckling. She was beyond pissed, at Cora, at Hook (whose loyalties she still couldn't entirely place), and at her stupid body, which felt as though it had aged an eternity. This was _his_ fault. If he hadn't tackled his fat ass into her, she, Mary Margaret, Mulan, and zombie-Aurora could have been well on their way out of there. Her eyes trailed to the unmoving princess. Her stare had glazed over, like a marionette waiting for someone to tug on her strings.

Cora lowered her head, glaring at Emma beneath her manicured brows. "I believe you owe me a compass."

"I don't," Emma growled low through clenched teeth, "owe you a damn thing."

Cora sighed dramatically. "Dear me, then _what_ purpose could you possibly serve, hmm? Come now, dear, I'm giving you a chance."

"Did you give Aurora a chance?" Mulan's head jerked upward sharply at the sound of her companion's name on Emma's tongue. "Oh, my bad, she must have _begged_ for you to take control of her."

Cora quirked a brow. "It's easy to take what is not so easily defended, my dear." She withdrew a small pouch tucked at her waist, pulling out a glowing, red heart. Emma shuddered at the reality of it all. This was no paper cut-out, with two drops delicately meeting together. This was the real deal: aorta, ventricles—a human heart. Cora held it up to her lips, smiling delicately before breathing over the organ. Aurora's figure up-righted itself, no longer hunched but strung as tight as a string. "Aurora," Cora's grin was feral. "Take care of this."

"_No!_" Mary Margaret yelled.

Mulan doubled her struggling efforts.

And Hook? Hook did nothing.

It took milliseconds for Emma to realize Aurora was coming after _her_. Emma struggled, eyes wide and desperate as she sought Hook's. His head was turned away, unable to meet her halfway. Aurora's head bowed slightly, keeping her unseeing eyes steady on her target. She carried no weapon. Emma had a mental flash of a hook drenched in blood. The image swiped across her mind like lightning, and then it was gone. She shuddered. So Aurora, under Cora's command, was coming to steal her heart. Emma prayed to God—if there even _was_ a God in this realm—that Cora planned on killing her rather than turning her against her family. She forced her wild eyes back to Hook as Aurora crept closer.

"_Kill me!"_ Emma screamed at him, stamping her boot into the ground like a defiant child. A sob escaped Snow's lips as her entire face melted in helplessness. Emma held her footing. "Go on, you fucking bastard, _do it!_ You wanted this! I betrayed you, didn't I?! _Left you._ So _do it_ you Goddamn coward! You're going to let a fucking princess finish your job?" Emma's face shook with barely concealed rage. It was a mask for fear. Her voice was hollow when she spoke again. "_Do. It. Kill. Me._"

His answer echoed loudly in her head. _"No." _

_Fuck you. _

She could have sworn his lip twitched in what would have been a smile. _"Be careful with your words, Swan. I might just be obliged to allow you to act on such a primitive desire."_

Aurora was before her now, sizing her up. Emma reared her head back, desperate to appear larger than she really was. And all the while, she couldn't _believe_ she was having this mental discussion with Hook. Sex. Really? Here? _Now?_

"_Oh, there's no need for begging."_

Aurora paused. Her head twisted around to await the final orders from Cora. Cora, however, was busy eyeing Hook, probably sorting through the possibility of _him_ carrying out Emma's murder.

_Kill me,_ Emma pleaded. _I can't let her use me to get to Henry. Please. In return for sparing your life on that beanstalk. If this is any kind of a favor, or revenge—whichever way you prefer to see it—just do it. I can't let anyone take my heart._

Silence. Then a long sigh filled her ears. _"You're a bit late, darling." _His voice resonated sadness. Emma frowned, eyes narrowing in his direction.

"Hook. Would you care to do the honors?" Cora interrupted their mental connection, beaming at him. Oh, how Emma wished she could shove that two-faced, bitchy smile up Cora's ass. "Make sure you keep it clean—can't have a blood-soaked compass, now, can we?" Snow exploded in a fit of expletives, shrieking with fury which bordered dangerously on madness.

"On the contrary, m'lady," Hook tucked his arms behind his back, offering her a half-bow, "I have no desire to waste any of my final steals on _her_," he spat the last word like poison on his lips. His eyes would not meet Emma's. She shuddered at the hatred dripping from his words.

Cora clicked her tongue impatiently. "I was generous and gave you _three_ in return for your gift of the princess. You cannot possibly be so selfish…" she gave Hook a quick once-over before shrugging. She sighed dramatically, tugging at her gloves. "I stand corrected."

He flashed an award-winning grin. "Pirate, after all."

"Very well." Cora trained her eyes carefully on Hook, studying him as though she were trying to read his mind. Emma mentally scoffed. _I would gladly give you my connection to him._

Hook interrupted her thoughts, quiet but cocky as ever, _"It's more of a gift, really."_

Emma snarled in her mind. _Gift, my ass. Just,_ she took a mental breath, _kill me. I don't care if you're pausing for dramatic effect, but I cannot let my heart get into the wrong hands. _She returned her glare to Aurora who stood frozen and dumb before her. Emma blinked back a wave of tears that were threatening to spill over. _I'm begging you, Hook. If you have any shred of mercy in you, please do this one thing for me. If there was anything between—_

"_My, my, Emma. Am I to understand you are implying I have _feelings_ for you?"_ His eyes hardened, lips pursed, but he still refused to look at her. _"Don't get caught in the past, love, it's unbecoming of you."_

He turned his head sharply towards Emma, then. "Aurora," he commanded, "finish her."

Cora patted Hook's good arm patiently. "Getting ahead of ourselves, are we?"

Hook bared his teeth in a feral grin. "My apologies. She's all yours." He offered another half-bow, before turning his back on the group.

On Emma.

Cora nodded to herself, lifting Aurora's heart back to her lips. "Aurora," she whispered, index finger lightly stroking the side of the organ. "Finish her."

Snow screamed.

Mulan gasped.

Aurora's fist plunged into Emma's chest.

Her world went cold.

**x**

**x**

**x**

* * *

**I know what you all are thinking. Aurora's about to get blasted back, right? Cue buzzer. Wrong. And if you were reading closely, you'd see why… I was evil and planted hints throughout the chapter. Cookies to those who catch them. ;) **

**Review?**


	5. Chapter 4

**Yayyy! My jaw dropped when I opened my inbox…you all are too awesome. Not to mention brilliant little Nancy Drews (no offense to any males reading). It's like Christmas when I check my email now. A HUGE thank you to those of you reviewing, and I greatly appreciate those following or adding it as a favorite. And I apologize for the mean endings and cliff-hangers—I love them too much! Keeps you on your toes, and that's not too evil, is it? :) I sincerely hope you don't hate me too horribly for them. Hope this chapter makes up for it! Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter Four

"_**But there are dreams that cannot be**_

_**And there are storms we cannot weather**_

_**I had a dream my life would be**_

_**So different from this hell I'm living**_

_**So different now from what it seemed**_

_**Now life has killed the dream I dreamed…"**_

**x**

**x**

**x**

Emma Swan, for all intents and purposes, should have been dead. Or completely unaware and under Cora's command. Neither scenario, she realized with a trembling sigh of relief, was correct.

Her limbs were intact. Her senses were working. She smelt the fire wafting smoke up her burning nostrils. Her mouth tasted dry. She could see, albeit somewhat hazily, everyone staring at her incredulously. Everyone minus Hook, that was. Bastard was nowhere to be seen. She felt as she stretched her fingertips before clenching them back into fists, carefully exercising the numbness out of them. And, most importantly, as she turned a lazy grin towards a rather maniacal-looking Cora, she could _hear_.

The sound of expletives issued from Cora's tart, painted lips washed over Emma in what she imagined to be gentle waves lapping at her feet. Of course, she had no doubt Cora meant every "fuck you" and "piece of shit" and "damn you all to hell" to crash into her delicate ears like a cheese grater sawing her lobes and cartilage off. However, despite the odd combination of those phrases paired with the usually self-contained witch, Emma felt pleased with herself and the fact that _she_ was the reason for such a grotesque, unmannerly transformation.

Emma glanced down at the frozen Aurora.

The empty-handed, frozen Aurora.

Cora let loose another scream before marching over and shoving Aurora out of her way. "What. Have. You. _Done?_" she chewed out through clenched teeth. Her eyes sized up Emma, glancing from her face to her chest and back again.

Emma's breath hitched as Cora's fist disappeared inside her chest.

Mary Margaret screamed. Again. Emma forced herself to keep her eyes from rolling. She had no idea _why_ she was still here, but she'd be damned if she would question the lunacy of it all and give into a hysterical fit like the rest of them.

She could feel a burning, tingling sensation making its way through her chest where her heart should have been. The burning exploded in stars behind her eyes. It felt as though that damn woman had painted her nails in poison and was steadily injecting it into every fiber of Emma's being. But Cora's hand, just as quickly as it was there, was gone—returned empty, just as Aurora's had. She gasped before thrusting her hand back inside, only to produce the same results. Her eyes went black. She turned them on Emma before allowing an undignified roar of fury to escape her lips. Her hands sought an alternative route, effectively _frisking_ Emma for the compass.

When she came up empty-handed a fourth time, Cora backhanded her. Emma's head snapped painfully to the left. She saw stars.

"Do you think this is _funny_, you fool?" Cora's voice quivered dangerously. "You have," she inhaled sharply, "_no_ idea what you have done."

"And neither," Emma choked on a laugh, tasting blood on her lip, "do you." She let her head sag back against the tree, keeping her hooded gaze on Cora from the corner of her eyes.

The witch was seething. She peeled back Emma's jacket roughly, ripping apart her shirt to reveal a better look at her chest.

A blood-red, lightning scar stood jagged and proud against her flesh.

It was enflamed.

And bleeding.

Recent, Emma noticed.

Cora narrowed her eyes at the wound, recognition dawning.

She pulled back sharply, her icy gaze sweeping the span of the clearing. "Oh," she chuckled darkly. Her voice rang out, breeching the protective covering of the trees. "That's _very_ clever of you, Hook." She waited—they all did—on bated breath. Emma's stomach felt as though it had plummeted out her ass. _Hook? You did this? _She was met with silence, but it felt comforting, not lonely. As if the echoing nothing in her head was a gentle confirmation, wrapping around and embracing her fear, smothering it. She shuddered. _No,_ she rejected the sudden swelling of emotions tainting her reason. She hated the way he was making her feel, even from a distance. Wherever the hell he was.

"Using up," Cora continued, "one of my last incantations—for the _crocodile_—on a silly, stupid girl." Emma watched as Cora twisted in circles, speaking to the trees. She scanned their surroundings and found no sign of movement. She unconsciously clenched her jaw then winced from moving the inflamed bone. Emma made a mental note to return Cora's bitch slap someday. And by someday, she meant in the next few minutes. Or, Emma grinned inwardly, _now would be cool, too. CoughHookCough._

"But what, my dear Hook, is to stop me from harming _them_?"

Emma froze. All traces of joviality faded quickly from her face. Cora had lifted her palm up high in the air, in plain sight for all to see. Her fingers unfurled to reveal a heart.

Aurora's heart.

Before Emma could even think a protest, Cora's gloved fingertips curled around the glowing organ and squeezed tightly. Aurora yelped, collapsing to her knees. She stretched out an arm, its partner consoling her chest. "Please, help me!" she screamed. Emma watched as Aurora's fingers dug and dug at an empty chest, clawing at the pain she would never be able to soothe.

"_Stop it!"_ Mulan tugged fiercely at her ropes. But it was no use. Emma realized, with a sinking sensation, that their seemingly entertaining tête-à-tête had suddenly taken a turn for the worst.

"_Cora!"_ Emma yelled, her voice hoarse. "Let her _go!_"

Cora paused, turning her flaming, beady eyes on Emma. She raised a brow quizzically, but there was no humor to her gesture. "And, what? Take _you_ instead?" she snapped. "In case you haven't noticed, dear, you are a bit on the useless side of things now. You are untouchable." Cora returned her gaze to the heart. "No. Let's make a deal, shall we? If you can make Hook return, then no harm shall come to her. I wanted the heart of a true princess. The product of weakness."

Emma shut her eyes. Cora wanted her heart, not Aurora's. Disregarding Cora's motivations, Emma focused hard. _Hook, are you listening? God, if you're out there, Hook, get your ass here. Now!_ Her eyes flew open, searching the forest but to no avail. Her eyes flipped closed again. _Please. I'll do anything. But you can_not_ let her die. I will _not_ be responsible for her death._

In the silence, he answered softly. _"You aren't responsible, love. I am." _

Emma's breath hitched. He had no intentions of saving Aurora. She tried again, pressing her eyes shut tighter. _I. Will do. Anything. Just let her live. _

She could have sworn she felt something caress her mind, as soft as a lover's touch. _"The deal is Aurora's heart for yours. I cannot acquiesce to such a demand."_

_What the hell is my heart to you? _

He paused only briefly, but it was enough for Emma to feel his tone of resignation. _"Everything that you cannot possibly understand."_

She despised the way he was dancing around her question. _Bullshit. I don't have time for this. Just get her safe and you can have it._

"_Those aren't the rules, Emma. Aurora for you. I can't afford to sacrifice you at the moment. I have a crocodile to skin."_

Emma's thoughts froze. He was going to use her. She didn't know how, but he'd said it plain as day. There was no sentiment or sense of security in his thoughts—he was malicious to the core and she was merely a pawn in his fucked-up revenge game. And because of her—her heart—and Hook's stubborn-ass vengeance, Aurora would pay. An innocent would pay _because of her. _ She opened her eyes, and for the first time in a long time, Emma began to cry. She hated weakness, but she hated sacrifice and betrayal more. She had internally sworn to protect all those involved in helping her and Snow get back to Storybrooke. And she had failed.

Emma Swan had failed.

Cora's smile turned demonic. "No?" She paused to survey the glowing organ in her hand. Her light eyes darkened dangerously. "Very well then."

Emma snarled at the witch, jerking with all her might against her constraints. Mulan could no longer contain her hoarse sobs. Snow stood rigid and silent, her jaw set.

Emma watched—angry and scared as hell that all she could _do_ was watch—as Cora's fist closed over Aurora's heart.

The world halted as an explosion of dust escaped Cora's gloved hand.

Aurora collapsed to the ground.

Dead.

Emma would have said her heart stopped at that moment, if she _had_ one. Her blood ran cold, though, sending a trail of deadly ice through her veins and numbing her entire body. Her leather brace tightened painfully; it shot jolts of electricity to her chest. She tried to push him aside, block him completely out of her mind as pain rushed into her chest. Emma ached for Aurora. She ached for Mulan. She ached for things lost—for Henry, for her life, and even for Neal. _Neal._ She had been careful to avoid all thoughts of him, but there he was, intrusive in this vulnerable moment. Emma choked on air. She felt as though she were drowning. And she would never resurface.

Finally, Hook's voice broke through. _"Emma…" _

Emma blinked back the heat that was spilling over onto her cheeks. When she allowed her thoughts to form, they were deadpan and emotionless. _Leave me alone._

"_Emma-love—"_

_I hate you. _

His soft voice hardened inside her head. _"There is no room for dead weight on our journey, Emma." _

Her breath hitched. _Dead. Weight? You,_ she stammered inside her head, finding it difficult to form coherent thoughts, _you are disgusting. _

He chuckled. _"Now. Where were we?" _

_Go to hell. _

"_Bit too warm for me this time of year. As you were saying, darling, you would do 'anything'?"_

Emma's lips quivered. She sucked in her bottom lip as she tried in vain to rein it all in. _Offer. Retracted._ She couldn't tear her eyes away from Aurora's crumpled form. _You're too late. _I _was too late. _The world around her had grown frighteningly still. She could feel Cora's gaze on her, burning and somewhat victorious. Mulan cried out, vowing revenge at the heartless Queen of Hearts. Snow was motionless. It was too much. _I can't—I can't…oh God. She's…you…I couldn't…_

"_Emma,"_ he whispered softly in her head. And if weren't for the warning where her chest constricted, Emma would have believed the warmth enveloping her name. It promised hope. Courage. Even love. Emma _loathed_ her name on his tongue, in his voice, trapped inside her head.

_I swear to God, Hook, I will find a way to kill you. _

She could almost see his crazed grin spread across his face as he spoke his next words. _"Not likely. But I look forward to your pursuit. Thrill of the hunt and all. However, I'm not here for chit-chat, love."_

_Oh, that's right,_ Emma snapped, _you're here to wreak havoc and destruction on innocent lives. If we were in Storybrooke, you would so be crossing my jurisdiction and I'd land your ass in jail in one second flat. But since we're not, the second I lay my hand on a gun, I'm putting a bullet between your eyes. Make no mistake—you _will_ feel it._

"_Would handcuffs be involved in this jurisdiction of yours?" _

_You're a monster,_ Emma growled mentally. _You allowed an innocent woman to die. And_, her teeth ground together,_ you stole my heart. Why? Why the fuck did you do it? _

She could practically hear him shrug, referring to Aurora. _"No interest in a puppet. Cora would have never given it back. She, princess, would have easily killed her sooner than you think, or used her to do much worse than grope your empty chest." _There was a leer of an innuendo there, but Emma ignored it. Hook paused a beat before continuing. _"I have no intentions of harming you, Swan, if you play fair and follow my rules."_ His voice grew tense. _"Not that you have much of a say in the matter, darling."_

_I would have _never_ given it up without a fight._

"_Which is exactly why," _his voice snapped icily, _"I waited until you were unaware, unconscious. Couldn't exactly defend yourself against something you didn't realize was occurring, could you, love?"_ He sounded resentful, almost as if he _hated_ her for her heart's lack of ease and willingness. God. _Grow up._

Emma swallowed thickly, squeezing her shut eyes tighter. _So if I had been awake…? _

His pause only confirmed her suspicions. _"Let's not dwell on the past, shall we? Details are always something of a bore."_

She wondered why she even bothered. But she could easily guess from his avoidance of all rational answers, that she was right. Had she been awake, on guard against him like she usually was (unless the bastard was busy infiltrating her mind), she could have disrupted his plan. He would have been unable to steal her heart. She almost snorted. _Captain Hook has my heart. _Words she never thought she would say—or think, in this case. She grew angry at the implication. _Asshole will _never_ have my heart…_

"_Bit late, darling."_

…_in the figurative sense, you dick._

Emma suddenly snapped her teeth together, forcing her eyes open as cold fingers wrapped around her jaw. Cora. She was gripping Emma's head painfully, twisting and maneuvering it until her vision met the sight of Aurora.

"I thought you would like to take a look at your work, my dear." Her voice fell heavily with conviction. Emma winced. She was beginning to hate how manipulative every Goddamn person in this Goddamn realm was. Nonetheless, Cora's words still struck hard. Weakness. She felt it seep through every pore and threaten to plunge her eyes with burning tears. There was no fucking way she would let herself cry in front of that control freak. "Look what you let _happen_," she hissed again, allowing her nails to sink into Emma's cheeks. Something dark and foreboding crept at the edge of her mind. Her eyes widened with fear, and she knew, if she still had her heart, it would be racing furiously. She was finding it harder and harder to breathe.

_It was my fault. _

"_Keep it together, Swan,"_ Hook commanded. _"She's trying to breach past your defenses. Be a good lass and don't let her."_

_Aurora's dead, you bastard. I couldn't save—_

"_You couldn't have bloody well saved her, you git. That's _my _doing. Now shut your mouth and fight _back_," _he roared, his thoughts leaving little room for protest.

Emma blinked back tears. She narrowed her focus on Cora. She tipped her jaw up and jerked it out of Cora's hold, tearing flesh by her nails. Emma could feel a pool of wet blood stream down her face but she ignored it, challenging Cora with every fiber of her being. "Go. Fuck. Yourself."

Cora's jaw dropped. "You un_grateful_—"

"Can it," Emma snapped.

"I beg your—"

"You know. Put a cork in it. Put a lid on it. _Shut. Your mouth._ That—Aurora—is _not_ my fault, and I will _not_ let you make me believe otherwise." She redirected her gaze past Cora's shoulder, locking eyes with a red-eyed Mulan. "I'm sorry," her voice rang out hollowly. "I'm sorry for you, and I'm sorry for her, but I had _no_ way of—"

"Snow said you'd been having dreams of him," Mulan interrupted, biting her lip. "Dreams mean so much more here." She swallowed thickly, no doubt choking back the emotion that was suddenly caught in Emma's throat. "You could have called him. He would have come."

Emma shook her head violently. She kept her eyes trained on Mulan. "He wouldn't come. I tried, I…"

Cora's face dissolved into a malicious smile that raked knives down Emma's nerves. "So it's true, then? No wonder that thieving pirate didn't dare complete the beanstalk's journey with me." Emma froze, turning her icy stare back on Cora. Her mouth felt as dry as cotton balls.

"What are you saying?" Emma inhaled sharply. Logic failed her.

Cora knew Hook was intimately connected to her.

Cora also knew _how_. How it had all started, what the catalyst was for their stupid mental frequencies being so in tune.

But Cora ignored her. She called over her shoulder, unable to tear her face away from Emma's, "Oh, that's _very_ clever indeed, Hook. I'm not quite sure whether to feel proud…or _betrayed_. After all we've been through," she chuckled darkly, "how can you not trust me?"

_Hook? Hook! What did you do?! Cora even fucking knows! Goddamn it, tell me! _

"You may have saved one princess. But you killed another with your foolishness. And _what_, pray tell, is to stop me from ending this little game right now?" Cora turned away from Emma, marching towards Mulan. A dangerous chill made its way down Emma's neck. Not only from Cora's implications, but from the hot breath she _swore_ was fanning down her neck.

"_Trust_ me," he breathed, in and out of her thoughts. He had to be playing with her mind again. She was certain of it. But how was he making her _feel _the illusion? The cool of his hook gently stroked her cheek. The sensation was oddly refreshing, soothing the gashes in her cheek Cora had been so careful to claw. And just as she began to wonder if it was real, the feeling was gone. Emma sank against the tree, finding the rope to be loose. Her muddied brain made no connection though. Emma's entire body was exhausted. _She_—her mind—was sick of his mind games. And the emotional turmoil of what had just happened—what she had been unable to stop—was bearing down on her like an avalanche.

Trust me, he'd said. Trust _what? _Emma knew from experience trust in men was hard to come by, and even harder earned.

Her shoulders shook. She twisted her head to the side to spit out a mouthful of blood—her gum had suffered a gash from where Cora backhanded her. _I wouldn't trust you if you were the last male on earth. _

"_It's a good thing this realm isn't on earth, then, isn't it?" _

Emma bit the inside of her cheek. He had a point.

"Oh, Hook," Cora laughed, clicking her tongue with disdain. "You play with fire. I _will_ kill them." She made her way to Snow, who had remained startlingly calm despite the situation. Emma narrowed her eyes sharply.

"No," she breathed. _Goddamn you, Hook! Do something for once in your fucking life! _Save _her!_ Her eyes sought the woods but Hook was still missing. Mulan was too distracted by Aurora's loss, and Emma suddenly doubted whether she would even mind if she was next. Emma felt Aurora's death unjustified, but she hardly knew the girl. Mary Margaret was an entirely different story. She was her mother. As hard as it was for Emma to come to terms with it, Mary Margaret—Snow White—had given birth to her. And just as she was finding her family, Emma realized with a pang in her chest, she was about to lose them.

Suddenly, as Cora raised her hand to Mary Margaret's chest, Emma's mouth opened.

Entirely of its own will.

_What…the hell?_ She was sure, that if she still had it, her heart would be pounding in her ears, racing wildly in some attempt to cope with the violent emotion Emma was harboring. But she had nothing to say other than a plethora of curses she was sure would fall on deaf ears—and even _those_ felt caught in her throat, lodged somewhere between fear, desperation, and inevitable loss.

Despite her will, Emma's mouth opened, and words were pouring out of her before she could stop it.

Words that were formed in a British accent.

Rising and falling with Hook's characteristic lilt.

Emma's voice cut the air like a knife, and Hook's words poured out: "I have an accord to make with you, Cora. A trade of sorts, darling, that you will _not_ want to pass up." Cora's spine stiffened, retracting her hand slightly. Her fingers curled in anticipation of the plunge but she stayed her arm for a moment. "I _strongly _suggest you lower your fist, love."

Emma's jaw dropped further, despite already being open.

She had just combined the words "darling" and "love" in sentences outlining a deal with Cora. Thinking back to earlier, Emma Swan wondered if Hook had forced meth or cocaine into her system—because there was no way in _hell_ she would have done that with her sanity intact.

Cora raised her brow sharply, the same miscommunication catching her interest. "Hook?" she asked, holding Emma's gaze.

Damn. She'd heard of speaking in tongues.

But she'd _never_ heard of speaking in Hook.

**x**

**x**

**x**

* * *

**I know. Another cliffie. Sort of. I'm evil. Tell me about it. **

**Review? **


	6. Chapter 5

**HUGE unbelievable thank you and imaginary donuts go out to: mali86, FaithonHold, Lisa1972, Maiqu, Psychadelia Child, gopher101, Black Heart (guest), Featherstrike, PeaceHeather, SerendipityMuse, amz-123, Ni Castle, jeweliux, Lady Eagle, AaralynFaye, barcorelle, and all of the brave souls following this story! I for one cannot believe we have 2 more weeks until the next episode. I'm a bit cross. But to make up for it, here's a chapter. **

* * *

Chapter Five

"_**But sometimes that can slip away as fast**_

_**As any fingers through your hands**_

_**So you let time forgive the past and go and make some other plans.**_

_**And you are not alone**_

_**Laying in the light.**_

_**Put out the fire in your head**_

_**And lay with me tonight…"**_

**x**

**x**

**x**

Cora's fist hovered precariously over Snow's chest. "So you have a deal you wish to strike with me?" Her lips pursed, but she looked as though she was highly intrigued to see what Hook had up his sleeve that could _possibly_ persuade her otherwise.

"I've already _struck_ it with you," he corrected firmly, his words still flowing from Emma's baffled mouth. "You see, if you'd known an hour ago what I had, you wouldn't be standing there arguing with me. We'd be on our merry way. But thanks to your, ah, theatrics," Emma's head involuntarily jerked upward, gesturing towards Aurora's body, "we're a bit delayed, behind schedule as it were."

Cora's tone was clipped. "Go. _On._" Her hand shook above Snow's heart. Emma glared at her from afar, praying to God for a miracle. Mary Margaret caught her gaze and promptly mouthed, _It's going to be okay._ Her confidence, despite her predicament, stunned Emma. She half-wondered if that shadow behind Snow's tree was more than just a shadow…

"Their safety," the words broke clear from Emma's lips, "for your jar of sparkly dirt."

Emma watched Cora freeze, her rigid posture emitting danger. Emma's gaze wavered to Aurora for what felt like the millionth time in the span of minutes. She had a gut feeling that Aurora's death was merciful. Merciful compared to what _they_ would endure should Cora's wardrobe dust go unreturned.

Cora's hands anxiously searched her concealed satchel beneath her cloak but from the look of shock spreading across her face, she did not find what she expected to see. The satchel that had held her magical wardrobe ashes was empty.

"You _bastard_—" Cora sneered, cut off by the rustle of trees somewhere to her left. She used her free hand to quickly spin and shoot off a fiery ball of magic. It took to the trees, exploding furiously. Emma was confident, however, that she had missed—because she could still feel him, smug as ever, in her head. Cora unconsciously leaned towards that dimming section of forest when Hook's actual voice suddenly rang out from the right.

"I seem to be getting that a lot lately," he chuckled darkly. Emma's mouth lay untouched, and she was thankful to have regained control over it as she stretched and popped the crick in its hinge. Hook, Emma realized, had stolen the magical wardrobe ashes—a treasure that bitch-of-a-witch considered rightfully hers. Emma started to smile. Hook had snagged the compass and magical ashes—their ticket home. She almost applauded him verbally, meaning to bestow the honorary title of Captain Butterfingers, when she realized Hook's terms would not benefit them in the least in regards to getting home. It had become a lose-lose situation. They would live, but without a way home. Or they would finally repossess the magical dust only to die for it. Even if Hook found a way—who was to say he would share his stolen goods with them? _Well damn. Back to square-I-hate-Captain-fucking-Hook-one._

Hook's voice rang out from behind Cora now. "Do we have a deal?"

Cora abruptly pulled away from Snow, her icy stare turning to Emma, pinning her against the tree with an air of accusation. As if it was _her_ fault Hook was so damn good at pick-pocketing. Emma grinned right back, challenging her.

Cora continued to size Emma up before speaking softly. "I grow tired of your games, Captain." In a flash of purple smoke, she was gone. The loose cords around Emma snaked their way around her, hissing and spitting as they readjusted and tightened around her body, molding every inch to the tree. Suddenly, Cora reappeared at Emma's side, thrusting her fingers around Emma's throat. She leaned in so her lips were nearly touching the lobe of Emma's ear. It didn't take long for Emma to begin to lose air, but in some moment of clarity she understood Cora was attempting to speak to Hook _through _her. "I may not be able to kill her, Hook, but by the time I am finished with her, she'll _wish_—"

Emma saw a flurry of motion just over Cora's shoulder. Hook emerged from the wall of trees. "A _deal_, Cora," he hissed. "_Their_ safety." It did not escape Emma that his use of "their" seemed directed solely at herself—his eyes were pinned to hers alone.

All thought escaped her as every ounce of effort became devoted to retaining as much oxygen as possible. _"Hold on, lass."_ Emma felt as though she were turning blue; her lungs clenched in desperation as her body began to give into the deprivation of air.

_Easy for you to say…_ she shot back weakly, digging her toes into the ground in some vain effort to relieve and lift up from Cora's grip.

The world was spinning, but Emma managed to lock her gaze to Hook's, frantic for some solidity to cling to as her vision frayed at the edges. She watched Hook lift the glass vial of wardrobe ash in the air, waving it suggestively. Cora glanced at the gesture but turned instantly back to Emma, whose eyes began to roll to the back of her head. She despised how weak this woman was making her feel—how utterly defenseless she was against anything there against that tree.

She swore to herself that if she ever made it out, she'd burn the whole damn forest down, just to make sure she'd _never_ be tied to another fucking tree.

Cora's grip tightened—as if that were possible—and she used her index finger to lightly stroke Emma's pale jawline. "And the compass?" Her voice was light, almost jovial as Emma's frame began to droop. To hold her head up, Cora dug her nails once more into Emma's skin. Ruby drops emerged from their hold. "You know, Hook," she began conversationally, "she's royalty. I must admit, you chose well for a pirate."

"The compass, in _time, _Cora, is yours as well…so long as you hold our end of the bargain. This deal alone stands for now. Let's not lose focus, shall we?" Emma could hear his teeth clamp together, his words forced and biting as anxiety crept into his tone. Captain Hook nervous? She almost laughed. Or would have, if she had any oxygen left. She could feel her lungs struggling, her diaphragm working to expand and contract in some unconscious effort to draw breath.

"My," Cora leered, "the games you play, Hook." Her fingers released their harsh grip. Emma choked on the sudden flood of air. It was cold but felt good as it burned its way down to her struggling lungs.

Cora allowed her nails to rake down Emma's throat, leaving a track of blood.

Hook snarled. "I do believe my grip is slipping, _sweetheart_," he dangled the jar of ashes in the air precariously. Cora shoved herself away from Emma. She stayed close, however. Too close for Emma's comfort.

"You're going to have to sweeten the deal, my dear captain. Once dropped, the contents of the vial are easy to re-contain. And then where would you be, with a useless compass?" Her hands outstretched, one palm facing Snow and the other readdressing Emma. The motion looked, to an innocent bystander, much like an awaiting embrace. But to Emma, the gesture was a warning—a threat. Her palms were facing both of them, no doubt braced to fire off another magic explosion.

"Oh, you drive a hard bargain, Cora." He grinned maniacally. "Just as well. The compass, then, shall accompany your _sparkly dirt_," he mocked.

Cora's hands fell together in applause. "I am ever so glad you have such a head on your shoulders. To drive a hard bargain, one merely needs to know the right weaknesses to push." She idly brushed at her arms, as if ridding herself of her deeds. She licked her lips, keeping her gleeful eyes on Hook. "Now. Storybrooke awaits, and I am a bit anxious to see Regina again. Shall we?" Emma, her shoulders heaving with the effort of drawing in more air, glowered at the pair beneath her bent brows. She watched as Cora approached Hook, both hands outstretched. One for the vial of ashes. One for the compass.

The glass of wardrobe dust fell delicately into Cora's hands. She quickly pocketed the object, her other hand still outstretched. Hook eyed her carefully, one brow quirked high in a gesture of warning. He took a step closer to Cora, squaring shoulders with her and bowing his head to stare at her calmly beneath his brows. His lips pursed for a fraction of a second, Emma noticed, before he cocked his head to the side—dangerously.

"Our agreement, _Cora_," he began darkly, "is _finished_." With the final word still on his lips, Hook tossed the compass towards Cora. She snatched it with greedy reflexes, her mouth already breaking into a victorious smile.

And yet—the moment her fingertips grasped the gold piece, Emma knew something was off.

Way off.

Cora's arms were still outstretched, but her mouth had gone slack. Emma narrowed her eyes. At the tips of Cora's fingers, a small spark of blue electricity was gradually making its way down her arm.

"Emma, quick! The ropes!" Snow shouted, pulling free of her apparently cut ropes. She slung her arm through her bow and helped cut Mulan out of her own bonds. Emma blinked. Everything was happening in such a blur. And yet Cora stood there, frozen, as she had taken a cement bath. Why wasn't Cora _doing _anything? And how was Snow so bloody damn calm about the whole thing? Like it was perfectly normal to nearly die and then watch your would-be-murderer turn into a class act mime. She frowned, unable to tear her eyes away from the witch as she shakily bent down to retrieve the rope at her feet. It had been cut loose, coiling at her boots like a snake.

Hook was suddenly before her, jerking the cord hastily out of her hands. "Normally, I would agree that haste makes waste, darling, but even your dawdling speed could not be matched by a rock." Emma narrowed her eyes sharply, tightening her fists crossly. "I am _quite_ flattered that you seem so mesmerized by my little show, but love," his grin was feral, looping the rope over his shoulder, "if you wanted a _show_ all you had to do was _ask_." He waggled his eyebrows devilishly before stalking away from her.

She glared at his back. _Prick. _

"All yours in time, lass," the Sexual Smartass from Hell called over his shoulder, once again abusing their damn mind connection.

Emma felt her blood boil, fists clenching and unclenching. She marched over to where Hook stood. He handed the rope off to Snow and Mulan, who were busy tying a very frozen Cora up. She looked as though she were suffering a hot flash—her skin was bubbling in flakes of red, her hair was frazzled, and her lips were quivering in barely concealed rage. Emma continued to eye her curiously for a moment before she caught Hook staring at her with folded arms and that dangerously quirked brow of his. He was grinning at her like the cat that ate the damn canary.

"What?" she snapped, crossing her own arms.

His smile merely broadened.

"Did you shove the Cheshire cat up your ass or something?"

"If that were the case, would you be happy to retrieve it for me?"

Emma ignored him, stepping closer to shove an accusatory finger into his chest. He stared down his chest at the offending appendage, eyes wide. "You were prepared to give up the wardrobe ashes and compass to Cora."

"I wasn't prepared, love. I _did_." His right hand delicately caught her wrist. Emma watched, stunned, as he lifted her arm to his lips, gently brushing against her skin like a whisper. He kept those damn cerulean eyes on her the entire time before releasing her and backing away. Reaching between Snow and Mulan, Hook fished through Cora's satchel hanging around her waist. He steadily withdrew the vial of magic to dangle it before Emma. She snatched it out of his hand angrily. "Ooooh, you don't share well, do you, lass?" He flashed a wink at her. "I love a possessive woman."

"Possess _this_."

Her fist met his face in a sickening crunch.

Hook doubled over, blood spewing over his hands.

"Em_ma_!" Snow scolded, hurrying her job of tying Cora.

Emma shrugged, pocketing the magical wardrobe ash. "You would have done the same."

Snow bristled. "But that's _beside _the point!" She sighed, keeping her gaze on a very quiet and motionless Cora as Mulan drew her sword, prepared for anything. "He did save us."

"Well it's not like he came barreling in here on a white steed!"

"No," Hook wiped his bleeding mouth on his sleeve, pulling it back to gaze at the blood-soaked damage. "No, that would be your _father_." He spat a mouthful of blood and saliva into the dirt. He turned his darkened eyes on Emma. Challenging. _Daring_ her to just try and give it another go. _"I like it rough, darling." _

Emma snarled, lunging at him. Snow caught her by the arm to hoist her away from the injured pirate. "You've done him enough damage."

Hook flashed them a ruby-red grin. "So gracious, your majesty."

Snow narrowed her eyes sharply. "You aren't quite off the hook," she blushed, "no offense with the…ah, your hand," she gestured impatiently towards his left arm.

She was awarded with Cheeky Grin #4.

Emma glanced away towards Mulan. The female warrior was hovering awkwardly above Aurora's body, almost as if staring her down would bring her heart back. Emma felt a pang of sympathy for the woman's loss. She brushed past Hook, who was busy surveying his teeth idly in his hook's reflection, and slowly made her way to Mulan. Hook's eyes followed her approvingly.

Emma sighed. "What can I do to help?"

"We need to burn the body," Mulan's voice was low and quivering. "It would be a disgrace for the beasts here to find it and desecrate it. She deserves respect. Ph—" her voice broke. She took a few calming breaths, grip tightening on the hilt of her sword before continuing. "Philip would have wanted it that way."

"Yeah, of course." Emma swallowed thickly, unable to tear her eyes away from Aurora. "I'll go get some wood."

Mulan nodded stiffly.

Emma raked her hands through her hair, unsure of what to do with herself, before turning hesitantly back towards Snow. "So what do we do with _her_?" Her heavy gaze had travelled to Cora, bound tight and motionless. Cora's eyes, however, were glaring red-hot daggers in the hazy direction of an unobservant Hook.

"I have a more imperative question," Snow spoke up, facing Hook. "How did you do it?"

He ignored her, choosing instead to poke a fingernail at a tooth, as if testing its durability thanks to Emma's fist. Emma, ever quick to her anger when it came to a certain buccaneer, suddenly charged him. She gripped his shirt in her hands, fisting the material and hauling him up to a straighter position. Despite the fact that he towered over her at maximum height capacity, Emma wasn't the least bit intimidated. Hell. She'd taken down a fucking giant. She could handle this six-foot-nothing douchebag.

"Answer her," she snarled.

Hook's eyes widened with something akin to amusement. "Anything for your touch, love." He licked his lips suggestively. His good hand disappeared inside his coat before withdrawing an empty jar.

"The octopus ink," Emma whispered.

"_You_ had it?!" Snow exclaimed, marching up to the pair. She laid a steadying hand on Emma's shoulder, silently instructing her daughter to let him go.

"Had to ensure its safe keeping while Emma was otherwise engaged." Emma wished to God she could wipe off that Goddamn smug look on his face. So fucking proud of himself for pickpocketing her. That cheat, she'd been unconscious. Practically handed everything to him on a silver platter.

"It made a nice accompanying gift with the compass, don't you think?" Hook continued, tugging at his sleeves as he stared Emma down. She offered him a fake smile in return.

"So you poured the ink on the compass?" Snow sounded amazed, practically admiring Hook's quick thinking. A tug of jealousy enflamed inside Emma. God. She felt like a sibling fighting for her mother's affections.

"Why tie her up then? Does your plan have an expiration date?" But Emma's sarcasm fell on deaf ears.

He waved his hook at her. "Merely a precaution. In experience, I've found it unwise to rest at ease near a sleeping beast."

"We really should put her back in Rumpelstiltskin's cell then, just to be completely safe," Snow said.

"I agree, m'lady. I'd be more than happy to—"

"Like _hell_," Emma snapped. "You'd probably set her on us and run off with the compass and wardrobe ash when she wasn't looking."

"Then do you mind explaining to me, dear Emma, why I would have dared to risk your lives and mine, then rescue _you_, only to let the cat back out to play?"

"Emma, drop it. We're all under a little stress, but he _did_ help us. I don't think it's smart to point fingers, just yet."

"Or hooks," Emma mumbled, slightly miffed that her mother was siding with Hook.

"Look. Mulan and I will take her back to the cell. Emma, you can get the firewood for…" she trailed off. Emma nodded. "Hook can go with you." Hook's head jerked up in interest, cocking his head to the side. Cheeky Grin #5. Emma's nodding turned to a violent protest, her head rapidly swiveling back and forth.

"When _hell_ freezes over."

Snow sighed. "You still don't know everything from our world, Emma, and at this point it's best we don't go at it alone."

Hook practically waltzed up to Emma, a spring in his step. He stepped methodically between Snow and Emma, offering his arm. "Shall we?"

Snow took a warning step towards him, hand on the hilt of her sword. "You so much as _breathe_ on her, and you'll be harnessing two hooks. Got it?"

"What, no warnings for my most prized appendage? How disappointing."

Emma ignored him, peering over his shoulder at Snow. "And then what? What happens next?"

"You can return home, lovelies," Hook answered for her.

Snow frowned, hesitant. "How? Cora's frozen with the compass, just as Rumpelstiltskin was with the quill. If we remove it, we're practically handing her freedom. At the moment, we have no way home, again. Cora's taken care of, but for now we'll have to find another way."

A pregnant pause hung in the air as Hook kept his back to Snow, his eyes rooting Emma to the spot. "Ah. Yes. _That._ I failed to mention the magical bean I happened to snag."

To say all three women were now giving Hook their undivided attention would have been an understatement. Mulan moved to Snow's side, their mouths parted in silent questioning. Emma, however, had no issue with words.

"The _fuck_," Emma shot a fiery, accusatory glare at him.

"_Emma!_" Snow scolded.

Hook wagged his hook at her admonishingly before turning his attention to Snow. "I gave it to your darling daughter. Although, she seemed rather offended by my gift. It wasn't quite her _taste_."

Emma froze, the entire world coming to a sickening halt.

Her eyes narrowed.

His rose appreciatively.

Her upper lip pulled back to reveal her teeth, baring them in a half-snarl.

His twitched before breaking into Cheeky Grin #6.

Emma swallowed back the lump in her throat, opening her mouth—her pitch on edge.

"_That's_ what you shoved down my throat?"

Hook never had time to block the second punch to his face.

**x**

**x**

**x**

* * *

**muahahahahahaha…**


	7. Chapter 6

**A note: snow (the literal kind, not Emma's mum) is very inspirational for writing. Another note: I know some of you may be inquiring as to Emma's uncharacteristically violent nature. However, if Hook force-fed her a magic bean and stole her heart, I seriously doubt she'd just high-five him and say "good job!" She's harbored mixed feelings over him from the beginning, torn between despising him and falling for his (slightly egotistical) charm. But the whole bean and heart situation is a big no-no in any relationship's trust book. Not that any of you should ever have to worry about that happening to you… Anyway! Hope you dearies enjoy this next chapter. You'll see more Hook/Emma interactions. As always, thanks to those of you reviewing, following, and adding this story as a favorite! **

* * *

Chapter 6

**x**

"_**There's a place that I know**_

_**It's not pretty there and few have ever gone**_

_**If I show it to you now**_

_**Will it make you run away? **_

_**Or will you stay? **_

_**Even if it hurts**_

_**Even if I try to push you out**_

_**Will you return?"**_

**x**

**x**

**x**

Emma's fist ached like hell, but it was nothing compared to the pride that swelled inside her.

Two left hooks to a Hook.

That had to be a record.

Emma gently coddled her fist to her chest, wringing it out and massaging the knuckles as she watched Hook attempt to rise off the ground before face-planting for the fifth time in seconds. She knelt down, keeping her fist tucked into her waist. He was mumbling nonsensically, his pitch rising and falling with a surprising number of curses, threats, and demands all in the string of one breath. Her head cocked to the side patiently.

"Sorry, I didn't quite catch that."

His fist pounded at the ground, burrowing his face into the dirt. He sucked in a sharp breath before repeating: "Blermy, watingurd's blurdyhewishthutfer, yooo biggingcar…"

"You're going to have to speak up, _love_," she told him.

Hook spit out another mouthful of blood near her boot before returning his mouth to the sanctity of his palms. After a few more calming heaves of breath, Hook twisted his head around to meet Emma with his steely glare. Blood was gushing out of his nose and down his lips—the bottom one had been cut, no doubt when her fist met his teeth. Nostrils flaring, he finally managed a response.

"_Blimey, _what in God's bloody hell was _that_ for, you buggering _cur_?"

"Christ, is _that_ what you said? Impressive translation." Emma rose to her feet, staring down at him with a strangely emotionless expression. She had to admit, a small part of her felt regret for what she had done. But that small part was immediately squandered by the overwhelming wave of anger and fear for what he had done. Hook had violated her on two levels—her heart, which he still had, and forcing a magic bean down her throat. She had _no_ idea what either meant, but frankly, at the moment her fist greeted his face, it didn't matter too much. She just knew it was _wrong_, what he'd done, whatever his reasons. And he would pay.

"Emma," Snow stepped forward, readjusting her bow where it hung on her shoulder. She leaned forward to press a warning hand to Emma's back. "I can promise you there's a holding cell with his name on it when we get back to Storybrooke. But right now, we need him to get back home. To David. And Henry. Whatever he did to you, with the magic bean, he's the only one who knows how to activate the bean's portal and get us home. He's our only chance, and that means he stays alive. For now."

Hook's bloodied mouth spread into a wide, sassy grin. "I knew you'd warm up to me."

Emma pulled herself away from Hook, stepping back into Snow's arm. She glared down at the pirate and folded her arms. "Give up the theatrics. Just tell us how to get home, and we can each leave to our respective worlds."

His brows shot up in mock hurt. "I was waiting on bated breath to see this wondrous holding cell of yours. Ever so eager to have you cuff me." He cocked his head to the side, feigning emotional pain. "You don't plan on taking me with you, lass? "

Emma snorted. "Hardly." At his incredulous stare, Emma rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on. With you on the loose in Storybrooke, it'd be like locking a kid in a candy store. You wouldn't be able to help yourself. Either you or Gold—er, Rumpelstiltskin, sorry—would wind up dead within 24 hours—"

"—you clearly underestimate how thorough and with little time I can finish any deed, love," he suggested smugly.

"I will _not_ let you just waltz into _my _town to shove your hook into the nearest heart."

"Emma," he began patiently, "with a limited number of incantations and all, there's really only _two_ hearts you need worry about."

"You aren't helping your case. Regardless, even if you're saving one for Gold—and God knows _I_ don't even like the man—no one deserves that. And you'd still be at liberty to destroy one more heart. I can't have that on my conscience." Emma glared down her nose at him, willing him to give up his stubborn act and just comply already.

"I may be a little old-fashioned, love, but even without my hook, there are other ways."

Emma clenched her teeth together tightly. "You _still _aren't helping. You aren't going to give him up, Hook. I can't take a chance on you." But even as she said it, the words somehow felt _wrong _on her tongue—forced and as though someone else was saying them. Emma swallowed back a lump in her throat, her nose suddenly burning and her eyes becoming hot. She couldn't take a chance on him, or any other man, for that matter. Not after Neal. She wanted him gone. Out of her life. Forever.

Didn't she?

She forced herself to glare at him with bitter distaste as she opened her mind up. _You can't go with us. You have to stay here._

Her leather bracer dug hotly into her flesh. _"I refuse to sit on my arse while that croc goes free, Swan. He's _mine_." _The voice in her head seethed with promised vengeance.

Emma calmly closed her eyes. _Let it go, Hook. Go back to your life—_

"_HE MURDERED MY LIFE!"_ he roared inside her head, visibly quivering on the outside. He was leering at her from the ground, teeth and nose still coated in red from where she'd hit him. _"There is _nothing_ left for me but this, this score to settle. If you had the chance, Swan, you'd take closure with this _Neal _of yours," _he sneered, _"in a heartbeat. Despite your lack of heartbeat at the current moment, by fault of mine. This is _my_ closure with her. With…Milah." _

Emma's face had turned ashen. She suddenly felt like throwing up. All over Hook. She hated him. Hated the way he was breaking things down inside her, digging through the files of her mind, her heart. All thoughts and history of Neal were considered private property and off limits to Hook, but he just strolled into the recesses of her mind like he owned the damn place. _God_, her lips quivered, how she hated him.

And yet.

And yet, Emma Swan understood him perfectly. If she had only a few minutes to square things off with Neal, to tell him _exactly_ what she thought of bastardly cowards, and drive her fist into his gut, she wouldn't hesitate. Emma had never considered herself a violent person, but the relief she had just experienced after putting Hook in his place had been one of the most rewarding and selfish things she had done for herself in some time. And now, after deserting her, landing her pregnant ass in jail, and leaving her to give up Henry—she wanted Neal to feel pain, to writhe in it the way she had suffered, alone, all those years. To have that power, to _walk away_ from him one last time, she would feel near unstoppable. But murder? Emma shuddered. She could never take it as far as Hook. She would _never_ take it as far as him. Neal had stolen her life, nearly ruined it, but he had also given her Henry. After all that time, she had Henry. Henry was her life now. And she realized, with a sickening pang in her gut, she had something Hook would never have: remnants of a lost love.

When Emma finally opened her eyes to Hook's, they were red and wet. He searched her face, no doubt knowing _exactly_ what had gone on during her internally waged war.

"_Please, love. You have my word, pirate's honor. I'll get you home, you and yours, alive. _If_ and only if you let me hunt down the croc that murdered Milah. You do that, and I'll be merrily on my way back to…"_

_Back to where? You said yourself, there's nothing left for you. So what will you do, Hook? Where will you go? _

He paused thoughtfully. Emma could feel the bracer loosen, but its touch still burned at the core, injecting tendrils of fire into her skin. She itched to rip it off. _"Perhaps there is a vacancy in Storybook." _

Emma groaned. _Story_brooke_. But no. Not an option. _

"_Do yourself a favor, love, and stop pretending you don't want this."_

She sighed. _Want _what_, exactly? _

Emma had a feeling she knew what sexual comment he would make next, and was prepared to shoot it down with a threat of castration. But, as he was making a habit of so lately, Hook surprised her.

Immediately her mind was filled with Henry's face. Emma's throat constricted tightly, painfully. She hadn't conjured up a mental image of him in what felt like ages, finding it easier to forget than remember what she had been forced to leave behind. Henry was smiling. Dimply cheeks and wide, toothy grin. He glanced away and upwards, his eyes following the arm of a hand which rested solidly on his shoulder. The picture panned back. And it was no longer just Henry. Emma stood there. Smiling at herself, her eyes brighter than she imagined them being in weeks. Then, out of the darkness behind them, a hooked arm wrapped itself around her middle. Emma watched as Hook laced his good hand through her fingers on Henry's shoulder, both of them holding the boy.

They looked like a family.

An all-too-familiar image Emma had dreamed of, only with a different face attached to the man holding her.

Her anger softened. _What, no white picket fence? _

She could almost hear his eyebrows rise in surprise. _"Emma, I swear to the gods, if you let me finish what I set out to do hundreds of years ago, you will _not_ regret it." _

Emma sighed. Again. _This can't happen, Hook. Us. We have more in common than either of us can imagine, I'm sure, but—_ she stopped herself. She had begun the statement sarcastically, but a flicker of truth cast a wave of doubt and she could not finish, feeling a heavy silence drift between them. Darkness enveloped the conversation, and she could practically feel Hook sift his way through her mind again.

_Please, get out, Hook. I'm tired, and I can't just let you—_

"_You lost someone the same as I." _

She froze. _What? _

More searching, before a simple word: _"Graham."_

Emma felt as if a brick had been smashed into her heart—wherever it was. She could feel _everything_ crumbling around her. The imaginary family before her melted away, and it was just Emma, on her knees with her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook with the force of Graham's memory. However brief their time, she had felt something, seen something in him. Hope. Of perhaps starting over. But it had been selfishly ripped away. His heart. His heart had failed.

_Hook. How did—how did Milah die? _

Silence. Then: _"A croc destroyed her heart."_

Graham. Graham's heart had been destroyed. By the only person who could have held his heart in Storybrooke. Regina.

The world went cold with dread understanding. Emma watched as Hook joined the vision of herself. She watched as he bent next to her shaking form. She watched as he pulled her against him. And she watched as he curled her against his chest, rocking her gently and pressing chaste kisses to her hair and forehead. He looked away from the faux-Emma, his eyes settling on her as she watched them. Watched herself and Hook.

Emma's eyes flew open, banishing the mental vision he was giving her. Her gaze returned to Hook.

His own face mirrored her sympathy, but immediately hardened when he realized her answer, despite his argument, however good, would not change. She would not let him come with them. She couldn't, for the sake of her town, her job, and her son.

He let out a short, unfeeling laugh. "That bloody well changes things."

"It changes _nothing,_" Snow interjected, having no privy to their inner conversation. "Get us home."

Despite his precarious position on the ground, sprawled out before them and leaning back on his elbows, Hook's tone was hard and reprimanding when he spoke next, as if he still had the upper hand. "There is no 'us,' darling. I have a croc to skin, so you either take me _with_ you and your bonnie lovelies, or you stay here. And odds are, like it or not—though I'd dare to wager you're harboring a soft spot for pirates—you're stuck with _me_."

"What, no Peter Pan to kill back in Never Land?" Emma asked bitterly.

"Peter…?" he trailed off, confusion written all over his face. It suddenly dawned on Emma that he had never _heard_ of a Peter Pan.

Emma sucked in a shaky breath, blinking back her heavily-concealed tears. "Oh, for God's sake, not even _that_ one's real? I was hoping there'd be some justice for a Never Land besides harvesting a heart-stealing pirate."

At Emma's words, Snow quickly pushed her daughter behind her. With the danger of Cora behind them, there were more pressing matters to address. Matters she had nearly forgotten. She unsheathed her sword and pointed the tip towards his neck, Mulan keeping watch at bay. "Give her back her heart."

Hook rolled his eyes, bored. "Ooohh, I've always admired a dominant woman. However…oh, how do I put this delicately?" He bit his lip in artificial deep concentration before turning his steely eyes back to Snow. "_No._"

"Bastard."

"Ungrateful wench," he shot back, tilting his head back so he was staring up at the sky. As if they were wasting _his_ time.

Snow bristled, re-sheathing her sword. She stepped over him, straddling him midair. "Look, _you_. I have about _had_ it with your saucy mouth. We _just_ want to go _home_, and with Cora out of the way, there shouldn't _be_ anything in our way—yet here you are."

"Yet here I am," he mocked, lowering his gaze to the space where their waists were separated.

Snow bent forward. Her hand grabbed his jaw, redirecting his gaze to her face and pinching his cheeks in so his lips parted and jutted out in a face Emma couldn't help but laugh at. "Yes. There you are. So you're going to _help_ us. You're going to give my daughter back her heart, and you're going to get us the hell out of here."

"Ah, and what is it exactly you plan on doing, your majesty, should I fail to acquiesce?"

Snow merely pulled herself off him in response, running a shaky hand through her pixie cut hair. "We'll find another way, Snow," Mulan offered, turning to glance at Aurora once more.

Hook was on his feet in seconds. He dusted himself off, before addressing Emma. "As far as I'm concerned, I bought you ladies time. And your lives. The least you can do is be grateful and help a pirate out, eh?"

"We're _not_—"

"No, Emma. He's right. He's going to get us back," Snow demanded coldly, fixing him with her gaze, "and _then_ there will be hell to pay for what he did to you."

**x**

**x**

**x**

* * *

**Mama Snow's steppin' it up. So…what on **_**earth**_** can you possibly foresee going wrong with this picture? **

**Reviews? I eat them for breakfast.**


	8. Chapter 7

**EEEEEP! I hope you all really enjoy this chapter—I had way too much fun with it! It's a little short, compared to my usual lengths, but I'm currently battling a Physics and Chem 2 exam. I promise the read is worth it. Cheers to us for regaining OUAT this Sunday! **

**Also, a small note. To those reading, I really do appreciate reviews, good or bad, as do all writers. It lets us know we still have an interested audience, and I LOVE to hear what you have to say each week—your hopes, your dreams of where you see it going, your frustration and sympathy with characters, and your hearty stamp of approval (or disapproval). And, as they say, that's that. **

* * *

Chapter 7

**x**

"_**It's time to begin, isn't it? **_

_**I get a little bit bigger, but then I'll admit**_

_**I'm just the same as I was**_

_**Now don't you understand**_

_**That I'm never changing who I am…"**_

**x**

**x**

**x**

"No, Emma. He's right. He's going to get us back," Snow demanded coldly, fixing him with her gaze, "and _then_ there will be hell to pay for what he did to you."

Hook tucked his arms behind him. His eyebrows rose precariously at Snow's threat. He allowed his gaze to travel upward before bowing halfway and leaning in, as though he were about to reveal a secret. His voice was hushed and eerily optimistic. "Ah, but you see, you lovelies are rather useless to me now."

"But you just said you need us—"

"I've arranged for alternate means of transportation—need a way back after I get you there, you see. Wouldn't want to be stuck in Storybook."

"It's Story_brooke_," Emma interjected angrily. "So what, did you just magically conjure up a portal within the few moments we just spent harassing each other?"

"I was offering you a choice, love, one which you refused to take. As such…a back-up plan was hastily instilled. No worries. I would be more than happy to assist you lovelies in whatever way I can for the next few hours to see you off safely to Story_book_," he eyed Emma smugly.

"And what about you?"

"Never you mind about me."

"That's the problem," Emma began sassily, "I _do_ mind. Very much."

"Why Emma, I never thought we would have reached this stage in our courtship so soon. You flatter me, you really do."

Snow had been watching the two argue back and forth, her head swiveling to and fro. She finally decided to intervene. "That's _enough!_ Both of you. We'll sort out the details later. For now, Mulan and I have to take care of Cora, and wood still needs to be collected for…for Aurora. So, if you would _kindly_ settle this on your way to collecting the wood, then we can be a few minutes closer to home. We're leaving _together._ All four of us." With her final word still in the air, Snow rounded on the witch. She and Mulan each took an arm in hand and began to walk a very frozen Cora back in the direction of Rumpelstiltskin's cell. Emma watched as Cora made no move to speak, though her legs inched forward calmly as if she were taking a stroll in the park.

"How long will it last?" Emma mused aloud.

Hook never missed a beat, though took her question in an entirely different and unwanted direction. "I imagine until I have you on your back, writhing in ecstasy and moaning my name, begging me to—"

"_No._ God, get your head out of your ass. C'mon." She glared at him for a moment before stalking off in the opposite direction of Snow and Mulan. She relished the freedom to move and stretch her legs. She never looked back to see if Hook was following her, but by the lack of rustling leaves, she figured he had motioned to stay behind.

Emma bent forward, collecting several pieces of kindling and tucking it in the expanse of her arm. Although she didn't agree with Snow's giving into the pirate, she _was_ eager to get back to Henry. She felt as though she'd been away from him for decades, and she was horrified by the prospect that he would feel just as abandoned as she had as a child. Emma sighed. Her resolve, those carefully constructed walls she had built up around herself, was slowly crumbling. All thanks to an imbecilic crack in her foundation by the name of Killian Jones. The pirate had somehow wormed his way into her head, given her a piece of magic, _and_ managed to steal her heart, all within what felt like twenty-four hours.

Given other circumstances, this epiphany would have sounded romantic.

Given Emma Swan's circumstances, it meant nothing but backasswardness and danger, with an accompanying warning siren and flashing red lights to boot.

Of one thing she was determined: she would _not_ let this bloody pirate stay burrowed inside her head. She had to find a way to evict him. For good.

Emma Swan, lost in her own thoughts, failed to notice she was no longer alone. She continued to robotically search for wood, the pile in her arms slowly growing. It wasn't until a gentle pressure met her hips that she shot up, her head painfully exploding in an echoing _crack! _The wood fell to her feet and she swayed for a minute, trying desperately to blink back stars so she could pinpoint her attacker. But when she finally turned…

"Bloody _fuck!_" Hook snarled, his hand, followed by his hook out of reflex, clapped over his nose for the third time that day. Emma's own hands cupped her open mouth in horror.

"OhmyGodI'mso_sorry!_" she gushed, momentarily forgetting her surroundings and placing a hand on his shoulder. The other she used to tip his chin up. He growled at her, tripping over his own feet in an attempt to get away from her. "I thought you were—I don't know _what_—I mean, what the _hell_ were you doing sneaking up on me like that?! I could have killed you!"

"Death by nosebleed," he mumbled through his fingers, "suddenly seems an awfully merciless way to go, love." Emma's lips tipped up at his sarcasm, but the smile quickly vanished the moment his gaze leveled on her. She hadn't realized her hand was still on his shoulder until he glanced at it pointedly, brows canting half in surprise and half in his typical smug demeanor. She jerked it away as though she'd touched fire.

Hook chuckled between his fingers. "Always looking for an excuse to touch me, Swan." He clucked his tongue admonishingly.

Rolling her eyes, Emma closed the distance between them. "That one was unintentional. As part of my condolences, you get free medical treatment. Let me look." She lifted her hands to his but he pulled away swiftly.

"Ah, the infamous Swan wishes to play Doctor with the innocent pirate. For shame."

Emma's jaw dropped in horror. She quickly recovered herself, masking her disgust with forced concern. "That's _not_ it. And don't be such a baby—just let me…_stop!_" Each time Emma attempted to grab at his arms, he pulled away, just out of reach. Like the child she loathed him to be. She threw her hands up in the air. "Fine. I'll just let you wallow in your own pool of blood."

Emma turned her back on Hook, squatting down to retrieve her fallen collection of wood. There was a loud, nasally sigh from behind her before she heard her name on his lips. "Emma."

"What?" she snapped, suddenly feeling very worn down. Even her hands felt as though they were blistering beneath the wood. She didn't want to be here. She wanted to be as far from _here_ as possible.

"Your wish, love. My command."

Emma's head jerked up, and for a moment she had a sinking fear he was referencing her thoughts. The phrase _"Be careful what you wish for"_ resonated alarmingly in her mind. But when she turned to face Hook, the knot in her stomach quickly settled. His eyes were crossed as he stared down at his cupped nose, blocked by his hand.

He wasn't going to magically banish her, as she'd fleetingly wished.

He was going to let her help him.

Emma released the load of wood once more. "Okay then," she began unsteadily, dusting her palms against her hips. She slowly approached him, watching as he kept his cerulean eyes trained on her. Calculating each move that brought her closer to him. Emma's mouth ran dry with the realization she was coming to Hook _willingly._

_Get a grip, Swan,_ she scolded herself.

_You're right,_ she agreed. _He's just a man._

_Just a _pirate_, _her conscience corrected icily. _There's nothing 'man' about him. Other than the fact that he's a dick. And possibly has one. _

_But that's debatable,_ Emma offered.

_Right. Totally debatable. _

Emma swallowed thickly, her eyes subconsciously dropping to below Hook's belt. They lingered a millisecond too long.

_Abort! Abort!_ her conscience screamed at her. Emma obeyed, flicking her gaze back to Hook's, who was watching her and harboring a very smug and knowing grin from behind his cupped hand. _God, Emma Swan. You are no teenager. You are a woman. A Goddamn woman. Get over your estrogen, get your job done, and get home. _

Emma nodded to herself, pushing her sleeves up her arms in a business-like manner before stepping closer to Hook. Bastard still had that arrogant smirk plastered all over his face, his self-satisfaction only partly obscured by his fingers.

"I bet we could find some water to clean you up," Emma suggested, holding herself back from closing in the few remaining feet that stood between them. Hook cocked his head to the side questionably, but finally shrugged.

"Lead the way, my liege," he told her nasally.

Emma and Hook traipsed through the forest for ten minutes before finally picking up the familiar sounds of running water. Emma sped up her pace, amazed at how weightless Hook seemed on the forest floor. He was too quiet, and his skill at being so frightened her more than anything for some reason. In the back of her mind, she recognized it was a bad idea, to traipse off into the forest alone with Hook. But Snow would kill him if anything happened to her.

_You hear that, lover boy? _Emma thought warningly. _So keep your hands on your nose and other appendages in your pants._

"_More importantly, darling, who will protect _me_ should you decide to finally act on those primitive urges of yours and have your way with me?" _She could see him shudder mockingly in fear out of the corner of her eye. _"I am not to be taken advantage of by a woman. I do have a reputation to uphold, after all."_

_Yeah, a reputation that precedes you in even my world—as a child-stealing, murdering, vengeful son of a bitch. _

"_My, my, Swan, how you wound me with your words."_

She snuck another glance at him. He appeared rather somber in comparison to his cocky thoughts. Emma began to wonder if her words had struck a nerve. It was true, though, wasn't it? But then she thought back to what he'd said. _Whatever story you think you know, my dear, is most certainly wrong..._ Was she wrong about Hook then?

No. _Finish his dialogue, Swan_, her conscience instructed._ What did he say? _

Emma thought back, and her heart hardened once more. _Sounds like a lovely tale. But the truth's a little bit more gruesome._ She bit her bottom lip, stepping over a small batch of mud as they broke out into a clearing where the river ran through. So, whatever she thought she knew of Hook—whatever she'd learned as a child—had the potential for both falsity and danger beyond her imagination.

"Swan?"

Emma sighed again, stopping before the water's edge, her back to him. "Yeah?"

"Do me a marvelous favor, darling, and don't think so much. All that doubt is giving me a bloody headache." He paused, clearing his throat. "Do not forget what _else_ I said, love. It's called trust."

Emma's stomach sank. "Stay out of my head, Hook."

"Bit hard when you're practically shouting thoughts about me. Never could help myself—I'm a guilty eavesdropper to the end." The leering and snide tone in his voice only made her want to get back to Mary Margaret and Mulan more quickly.

Without thinking, Emma shoved her sleeves further back on her arm before stalking right up to Hook. She raised her arms before gently wrapping her fingers around his right wrist, which was doing a wonderful job at blocking the damage. Emma stared at him, taking in the details of his face and build—she hadn't been this close since their collision in the giant's castle. He smelled like a hypnotizing combination of the sea and forest, salt and cedar. She blinked. Slowly, she canted a brow in silent demand, tugging at his wrists. "C'mon, Hook. We don't have all day."

"My thoughts exactly."

In the blink of an eye, Emma was no longer on the ground.

Caught off guard, her back was forced against a tree, the bark digging painfully into her spine. Hook had managed to reverse their positions within a breath, capturing both of her wrists in his good hand with his hook at her waist, steadying her. His nose was completely clean of blood—she couldn't have hit it with her head. She must have jerked back into his head, or chin, or _something._ God. What a cheat. Playing with her sympathy.

His grin was devilish.

He cocked his head to the side, staring at her lips curiously. Emma's gaze dropped to his own lips, watching as his tongue wet them in what she could only imagine to be anticipation. He regarded her coolly, chest heaving with the sudden exertion and eyes sparking a flame she couldn't quite put out just yet. She felt it growing in the pit of her stomach, twisting and attempting to jumpstart a racing heart that she did not possess.

The pirate slowly closed the distance between them, his nose moving to gently brush against hers. His heated gaze traveled from her lips back to her eyes. She could feel his entire length pressing in against her, holding her against the tree, yet pulling her waist flush to his with his hooked arm. She shivered, not even bothering to tug her wrists free from his hand.

"Hook, I—"

Emma swallowed her words.

In one smooth movement, Hook's lips came crashing down on hers.

* * *

**x**

**x**

**x**

**Review?**


	9. Chapter 8

**EXCITING NEWS! I just got accepted to graduate school :) **

**In other awesome news, I thank you kindly from the depths of my heart, those of you reviewing and following this story. Your support continues to wow me each week. A side note: to anyone doubting Hook's character, and the seeming impossibility of any romantic thread between our dear captain and Emma, I personally do not believe love or trust will come easy for either one of them. They both have suffered greatly in the trust and romance department, have been burned more than they're willing to share with each other, and let's just be honest—Hook is a **_**pirate.**_** He may be incredible eye candy, but he's not going to jump on the romantic-novel bandwagon the moment it pulls into the station (despite his innuendos and sexual façade). He has his priorities, as will be revealed (and should already be known) in this chapter. Emma may be up on his list, but he has more important goals to obtain, as we've seen from the show. In trying to stay true to his character, his revenge is his ultimate motive. And he will do anything—at any cost—to avenge Milah. Emotions like that will not be easily dissuaded, hence a bit of a delay in the romance department. Emma's heart and their link are merely means to an end for Hook, for now, at least. All things take time :)**

**Now, back to the story. It's a long one (as was that AN, so I apologize to those of you anxiously awaiting the story). Slight gushy warning (though not M rated…yet).**

**In honor of Valentine's Day, it's gettin' hot in here…**

* * *

Chapter 8

**x**

"_**Set me free,**_

_**Leave me be.**_

_**I don't want to fall another moment into your gravity.**_

_**Here I am and I stand so tall,**_

_**just the way I'm supposed to be.**_

_**But you're on to me and all over me…"**_

**x**

**x**

**x**

Hook was a damn good kisser. That much Emma would admit. The moment his lips met hers in a searing promise of what was to come, every thought in Emma's head was banished beyond recognition. She fought to focus on reality, but it seemed his hold on her was even stronger; his control more demanding—inside and out. The kiss felt chaste and rough, bruising at her lips, commanding all her attention on him. She felt his hook dig into her back, forcing her closer against him.

The only words she could form in her mind were _Oh God…_

She felt his lips tip upwards against hers, his teeth catching her bottom lip and giving a gentle but firm tug. _"It's Killian, actually…"_ his voice rang out huskily in her mind.

Emma's eyes flew open, still careful to keep her face entirely stoic and lips immobile against his. She found him already watching her with those cruel cerulean orbs of his, piercing. For a moment, something flashed across them. Before Emma could dissect his emotions, however, it was gone, and his lips returned to hers, desperate and radiating power. Mandating submission. His mouth slanted over hers, outlining the entrance of her mouth with his tongue. She failed to notice he had released both her hands in favor of running his good hand slowly, tantalizingly up her waist to her neck. His thumb softly followed the outline of her pulse point, and despite a heart, Emma could feel her blood racing, pulsating to meet his touch. Faster and faster. Once satisfied with his effect on her, his nails raked further up until they were rooted firmly in her hair. The movement, the feeling of his fingers combing through her hair, sent shivers racing down her spine. She nearly moaned at his ministrations, but the shock of his tongue begging entrance into her mouth silenced all warmth he'd managed to coax inside her.

Too close.

He was _way_ too close.

Emma's teeth came down on his tongue and a metallic taste filled her mouth. But, despite her intentions, the violent gesture only seemed to spur him on as he growled out, pushing his hips flush against hers. She was trapped between a horny pirate and a tree. Another fucking tree. Great. Just…great.

His grip on her hair tightened. Emma felt him tug her head to the side, breaking contact with her lips. His heated gaze met hers, searching her face. He twisted her head further, relishing his control over her like a puppeteer over his marionette. Emma watched him from the corners of her eyes. She didn't want this. She _couldn't_ want this.

But there she was.

Not exactly submitting, but not pushing him away, either. She was caught in crossfire, a conflict of interests between what her head was screaming at her to do, and what her heart was begging her to give into.

Ice suddenly crept through her veins.

Her heart.

He still had it.

Was _he_ doing this? Forcing her to endure his ravishment?

_Shit. Shitshitshitshitshitshit._

Hook twisted a rather large tendril of hair around his finger and pulled her head to the side just so. His lips ghosted over her cheek before settling on her neck, locking onto her pulse. Without him noticing, Emma's hands slid behind her back. "Hook—"

"Shhh_hhh_," he soothed in a deep baritone. His nails dug back into her scalp, massaging the skin beneath as he worked to slip her shirt collar aside with his lips. "Easy, love." His mouth had somehow found its way to her shoulder. Emma tried to remain calm. Yeah, so a devilishly handsome pirate was devouring her skin. What was a girl to do? Oh, that's right.

Hook, line, and _sink him._

She gave him one last chance.

"Hook, stop."

He nuzzled her neck, his throat humming with arousal. "I think…_not._"

Emma glared over his bent head. She suddenly hated his guts. And his lack of respect for the female species in general.

In a flash, Emma had twisted and dislodged his hooked device, jerking it out of his left arm. Within a breath, the tip of silver was pressed to his carotid artery. His right hand was still buried in her hair but frozen. Emma leaned forward, her lips at the lobe of his ear. "When a girl tells you no," her teeth gently grazed his ear, "she means _no._"

Emma shoved him out of her personal space and quickly put several feet between them, brandishing his hook in the air. Hook stared at her incredulously.

"What, no smartass remarks to rejection?" Emma asked.

Furious, he took several quick, measured steps until their faces were mere inches apart. He bared his teeth, allowing his eyes to sweep over her hardened face. "You're a cold woman, Swan."

Emma internally bristled at his comment but kept her stoic expression in check. "And you're a manipulative chauvinist that preys on female emotions."

Hook snorted. "I would advise against playing with fire—you might just get burned next time, lass."

"And you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?" Emma swallowed back the lump in her throat at the flash of Neal's face Hook sent through her mind. So they were back to _that_ basis of attack.

Emma continued, her voice somewhat softened. "It's bad enough you couldn't rescue your damaged ego from Rumpelstiltskin, but you lost Milah in the crossfire too. You forget, Hook, sometimes there are _other_ people in danger besides yourself—others to look out for. You can't just follow the yellow brick road to your personal vendettas. You have responsibilities to protect."

"And _what_," Hook sneered, leaning in so his hot breath fanned across her face, "exactly, would _my_ responsibilities be, hmm? I have a dead lover to avenge. _That's_ the path I'm in pursuit of, Swan, while you frolic about Fairytale Land, instead of focusing all your energy on returning to that boy of yours."

Emma fisted her hands and shoved hard against Hook's chest, forcing him once more out of her personal space. "The _fuck_ I'm frolicking, you buccaneering asshole. I've been _trying_ to get back to my son the second I was dumped in this Godforsaken world. But no—little obstacles like you keep getting in my way. So get out. I don't need this from you. I need—"

"Me," he finished for her, charging her again with too much confidence. Emma flung her wrist out, warning him off with his own hook. He knocked her arm aside carelessly and stepped closer until their lips were nearly touching. Emma's feet refused to budge, as if her boots were filling up with lead. Hook lifted his hand to brush back a stray tendril of hair over her shoulder, a gesture whose intimacy she despised. She flinched away but he only closed in on her. His voice filled with venom when he spoke. "You need me. And without my charming self, you're never seeing your boy again. I can give you my word your family returns home safely, and we will all see Storybrooke again soon, but I have to insist you abandon your little Holier Than Thou façade. Because when it comes to me, Swan, you and I are far more alike than you'd care to admit. I will _not_ bow to the likes of you, someone who abandons their son for years and even then, doesn't quite put all she has into fighting with every," he annunciated, "last breath to get back what's hers. I've spent _hundreds_ of years fighting for this moment, for that damn crocodile, and I will _not_ let you take that away from me. So either join my ship, love, or jump overboard. Because, despite my loving persona," he sneered, "I am not afraid to leave a mother and child separated for the sake of achieving what I want."

Emma's eyes slipped closed, feeling the argument in her quickly draining. She wanted so much to shoot right back at her defense.

But she couldn't.

Because some small piece of her realized he was right. He may not be fighting for a child, but at least he had _kept_ fighting all those years. He'd fought for decades. And she had only just begun.

Hook's heavy breath, slid down her cheek to her ear, sending ripples of fear—and something else she wasn't quite ready to identify—cascading down her spine. His voice was gravelly and tired when he spoke. "So what d'you say, Swan? Truce?"

Her eyes flew open. She studied him for a moment, half hating him for the way he read her mind so clearly, and half admiring him for being the only person to verbally bring about her abandonment of Henry to her, without sugar-coating it. "A truce implies we're on equal playing fields."

He rolled his eyes, sounding bored. "Your point, love?"

In a flash, her leg swiped out from behind him, knocking him in his locked knees and effectively bringing the pirate to his knees before her. "We're _not._"

His own hand shot out, fingers successfully pinpointing her weakest location before digging in. Emma let out an airy laugh before collapsing on her knees, and to her side when his blunt arm shoved her down. Suddenly, his hook was ripped from her grasp and clicked back into place on his left hand. He stood, towering over her, grinning cheekily. "Too right, lass, too right."

Emma folded her arms around her stomach, half afraid he would attempt to tickle her again—and she did _not_ fancy knowing what it felt like to be tickled with a sharp, pointed piece of metal. "Not fair," she bit out stubbornly. He offered her his hook, laughing heartily, their serious moment lost entirely—much to Emma's relief.

"Darling, all's fair in love and war."

"This isn't—"

"Shall we head back, then?" he interrupted, gesturing towards her impatiently.

Emma stared at his hook for a moment. She pursed her lips, but finally accepted his offered silver appendage, hoisting herself to her feet with it. With her hand still grasped firmly around his hook, he jerked her forward, straight into his chest. His arms immediately went around her.

"Ah, now where have we seen this before?"

"Nothing's changed," Emma untangled herself roughly away from him.

"No? A pity."

"_Nothing._"

"Denial is the first—"

Emma's jaw dropped. "You are _so_ not psychoanalyzing me right now. Drop it." Hook's face scrunched up at the unfamiliar word before allowing the moment to pass. Emma turned to head back in the direction they had come when an annoyingly familiar hook snagged her pants' belt loop, not tugging her back but halting her movements.

Her gaze followed his arm down to the offending appendage. Her brows shot skyward. "You know, this could be considered sexual harassment. I could file—" Emma cut herself off short, her head shooting up. She noticed Hook was as tense as she. "Did you hear that?"

Hook met her eyes. A brief flicker of worry passed over his face before he carefully masked his face in stoicism. "Move carefully—it would appear we have company," he warned in a hushed tone.

Emma nodded, centering her weight as she crouched low. She would have to abandon her wood where she had dropped it. Hook crept behind her quietly, silently following her as she wove her way between the trees, pausing at each one to regain her bearing. At a particular tree, she stopped abruptly. Hook crashed into her, but he quickly grabbed her hips and pulled her back into him. The look in his eyes was deadly. His grip was deadlier. Emma shuddered, whipping her head forward to scan their dense surroundings.

_Are we safe? _

Hook leaned over her shoulder, his cheek just brushing the lobe of her ear. As if he was about to whisper into it. He merely breathed against her though, content with the shivers racking her body. Each hot breath sent another delicious, tingly wave down her back. Instead of answering her aloud, for security's sake, he intruded her mind. _"If by safe, you mean we are about to land on a rather gruesome beast's menu for tonight's repast, then yes—by all means we could not be safer." _He pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek, giving Emma an extra squeeze before lightly shoving her forward to the next tree. _"Mind your footing, lass."_

_Mind _yours_, _she snapped. He peered down at her, allowing a small smile. It quickly vanished, however, as a loud crackle followed by thunder filled the forest nearby. Emma found herself unconsciously bending back into Hook's form, unwillingly seeking shelter against him. She had no doubt he would have relished her movement had he not also been cowering down behind her, pushing their bodies against the closest tree.

"_It smells us." _

_Maybe if you took more showers—_

"_Is that an invitation? Alas, no, Swan, it smells our _blood_."_

_Why don't we make a run for it? If we catch up with Mary Margaret and Mulan in time, we can get back to Storybrooke. _

Hook sighed, his grip on Emma tightening. _"That won't be possible, lass." _

Another tree snapped from behind them. They made a bolt for the nearest cluster, keeping low to the ground. When they'd rounded their nearest blockade of protection, Emma had Hook by his shirt collar. "You said you could get us back—that _I_ could send everyone back," she whispered heatedly, jerking him up against the tree for emphasis.

Hook narrowed his gaze. "I never lied to you, Emma. I gave you my word they—your mother and the warrior—would get to Storybrooke, safely, and that we would _all_ meet there soon."

Emma's stomach plummeted and she had to swallow back the thick layer of bile that threatened to spill out with her stomach's contents. "I can't go with them," Emma spoke hollowly, realization dawning on her. She was _sick_ and fucking tired of his word games. "You never meant—and you _knew_ I thought I could—that I could see my son—" she fisted his collar in her hands, glaring at his chest and refusing to meet his eyes.

Loud steps like thunder echoed behind them. Hook and Emma made another go at escape, this time rounding behind a large cluster of boulders. They wedged themselves into the rocky edge, grappling for purchase as the ground shook and threatened to split beneath them. Emma glanced up as she found herself chest to chest with Hook. He already had his characteristically stupid grin plastered all over his face. "Oh, I just _love _squeezing into tight places."

Emma ignored him, her eyes flickering everywhere _but_ him as rocky debris tumbled down on them from overhead.

"Despite your rubbish act, it would appear you enjoy being stuck between a rock and a hard place," his grin was feral, his hips pressing against hers.

"I swear, Hook, _shut_ it—this isn't the time or place," Emma ground out through clenched teeth.

"All too right, love. A bed is always much more preferable. Though, I'm always open to possibilities. Be a bit animalistic, don't you think? Making the beast in the dirt—circle of life sort of deal. Mmm, just thinking about it already has me—"

A loud roar exploded nearby, mixing with the sound of humming electricity and the echoing boom of thunder. Emma's hairs stood on end, and by the way Hook had suddenly stepped in front of her in their cozy niche, his hand splaying protectively behind him on her midsection and hook outstretched for fight—Emma _knew_ they were in a shitload of trouble.

As the noise grew louder, Hook took his chance.

He rounded on her sharply, using her shirt to twist her around so they were chest-to-chest again. He was heaving, and his eyes were rounded with half-shielded fear. The ground rattled beneath them and Emma nearly lost her balance. She grappled with Hook's shirt, holding herself up and shifting her beady gaze to the crevice leading outside of their hiding spot. The entire world seemed to have grown dark within seconds. She shuddered.

"Emma, look at me! _Look at me!_" He grabbed her chin and maneuvered her face until she was forced to meet his unwavering glare. The serious tone in his voice frightened her. Gone were his sexual innuendos—his defense mechanisms. Real. This was the _real _Hook. The real Killian Jones. "I gave my _word_ you will return to Storybrooke, and you will. But all magic comes with a price, love."

"What _magic_?!" Emma hissed. "The bean was torched—useless!"

He snorted, appalled by her continuous disbelief. "You'd be surprised what a bit of portal magic can do. A good soak in magical wardrobe ash was enough to revive the little delicacy."

More trees snapped beneath the weight of the monster's fury. Still unseen, but definitely not unheard. Emma's brain conjured up all sorts of frightening images—from trolls on crack to something she could only describe as the Boogeyman, complete with fangs, glowing red eyes, and a frame large enough it could crush Emma with the blink of an eye. Instantly, her imagination vanished into nothingness, an act she figured was Hook's doing. Saving her sanity. How kind.

Emma glared at him, first at his fingers holding her tightly, then at his face, trying to work some sense of logic into the situation. "_I _digested the damn thing! What good does a magic bean do _me_ if it can't even get me home?!" she shouted, trying to pull out of his grasp. His fingers dug into her jawline.

"That's the price, princess," he yelled back, the forest in an uproar. "You can send _them_ back but magic prevents you from going yourself. You are, essentially, a portal now. We'll find another way!"

Emma was furious. More so at the limitations and consequences of magic, than at Hook or herself. He promised her a way back. Would he even help her? Or was he planning on deserting her with her mother and Mulan? He'd said so himself—his only motive was to get back to Storybrooke to hunt and kill Rumpelstiltskin. But he needed _her. _He _needed _her. To get back. Didn't he?

Whatever the ending, Emma Swan knew only one thing in that moment.

She had to send Mary Margaret and Mulan back.

Now.

In one swift move, Emma broke Hook's hold and sprinted out from the boulder's crevice.

Right into the creature's path.

**x**

**x**

**x**

* * *

**Review?**


	10. Chapter 9

**A/N: Sorry for the wait, guys! There is the occasional string of life overtaking my plot bunnies, as well as time to even sit down and write. I started this chapter over a week ago, and it wasn't making me happy, so I scratched it and redid it. Sue the perfectionist inside. Enjoy. **

* * *

Chapter 9

**x**

"_**Light up, light up**_

_**As if you have a choice.**_

_**Even if you cannot hear my voice**_

_**I'll be right beside you dear.**_

_**Louder, louder**_

_**And we'll run for our lives **_

_**I can hardly speak, I understand**_

_**Why you can't raise your voice to say…"**_

**x**

**x**

**x**

With a rush of adrenaline, Emma surged forward from the boulder's crevice, out of the safety of Hook's arms and straight into the path of what, as a roar erupted from somewhere to her left, she immediately termed as Uncertain Death. She relished the feel of her blood soaring through her muscles, flexing and sending her chest racing as she dug her toes into the earth and shot forward. Her arms pumped back and forth as she drove herself forward. She could feel it—the monster seemed to be everywhere and nowhere. Its hot breath fanned against her back, yet remained unseen due to Emma's stubborn ignorance.

One look at her adversary and she was sure she would be distracted from her ultimate goal: get Mulan and Mary Margaret the hell out of dodge.

Emma kept her eyes trained on the path ahead, digging her heels in and cutting madly through the trees as the beast thundered after her. Shadows enclosed around her and she made the eerie realization that the world had suddenly become night. Was _it_ causing the shift in time? Or was it an illusion?

She sucked in a deep breath, her lungs burning and begging her to slow down, but she pressed forward, sprinting over a fallen log and nearly losing her balance as she half-ran, half-tumbled down a steep slope. Leaves and moss gave out from under her, but with her arms flapping madly at her sides, she managed to remain upright. The resonant pounding behind her at the top of the hill ceased for a few seconds and as Emma picked up her speed, she began to congratulate herself for her aptitude at escape.

Until the creature came crashing down before her.

Apparently the damn thing had leapt over the hill, rather than tumble down it like every-fucking-thing else.

_Shit._

_Shitshitshitshitshit…_

Emma slid to a halt before twisting her body to the side and skirting around the explosion of dust and dirt dissipating from the beast's landing. She kicked up her heels, weaving between the looming trees and trying desperately to block out the monster's shrieking howl.

_Fuck you too,_ she mentally snorted.

Emma pressed on, nearly relishing the wind in her hair and the blur of forest pass by her as she blindly navigated her way back to where she had left Mary Margaret. She wasn't too far—if the damn shadow would get off her back long enough to allow her to run straight rather than tearing up zig-zag patterns in the forest floor as the monster followed. It was leaving nothing but destruction in its wake.

A sudden searing pain shot through her wrist. The leather bracer clipped at Emma's skin and she afforded a quick glance at the offending object. And then—

"_Emma!"_

She could honestly say she had never been so glad to be mind-raped by that damn pirate.

_You've reached the Swan residence,_ she retorted, her mind's voice sounding a bit too giddy given the situation at hand.

"_What the bloody hell do you think you're bloody well doing?!" _he roared in her head.

_Oh, you know,_ she mentally huffed, exasperation masking her fear, _enjoying the fucking scenery._

The thundering closed in quickly, shifting to her right as it seemed to prepare to cut her off. Emma dug her feet in before doubling back and away towards the left.

"_Now isn't the time,"_ he snapped, obviously missing her sarcasm. Emma nearly rolled her eyes, slowing her pace as she lengthened her stride up a fern-covered incline.

_Wasn't the time between a boulder, either, asshole. _

"_It's called a Dargnell,_" he ignored her._ "Master of the elements and hunter of the Enchanted Forest. You can't outrun it, Emma, it's hunting you,"_ he sounded pained, thoughts gravelly and low. Laced with regret.

The beast screamed again, furious at her gained distance. Emma allowed herself a small smile. She was getting closer.

_Where are you?! _

"_Close behind you, love." _

_Then I don't have to outrun it. I just have to outrun _you_. _

Emma's legs burned, her energy quickly giving out. She was riding on pure adrenaline fumes now. She threw her arms up as she tripped through a thicket, shielding her face. She bit back a cry as thorns tore at her skin. Thorns that were slowing her down. Thorns that wouldn't phase the Dargnell closing in.

"_You forget lass—you have no idea _how_ to send them home. Even if you reach them first,_" she could hear the remorse in his voice, _"your little heroic endeavor will have been pointless." _

Emma almost halted at his words. He was reminding her of her reliance on him—she needed him, and he was proving her dependence. But he was right. She had no idea what to do when she reached Mary Margaret and Mulan. It couldn't have been so simple as just _wishing_ them away. There had to be a trick. There was _always_ a trick.

_What do you want?_ she thought quietly, a stark contrast to the madness that was encroaching on her faltering speed. The earth was actually shaking beneath her feet, vibrating as it rapidly closed the distance between hunter and the hunted.

She could hear the hesitation in his thoughts before he finally spoke. His tone was grave. _"I want you to send your mother home. I want you to get them back safely. You're of no use to me if you despise me from the beginning—I will _not _be responsible for the murders of a royal family. I need your trust, lass. If you give it to me, I'll even buy you a little time." _

_How the _fuck_ are you having _time_ for this?! _she half-screamed in her head. She wasn't sure if he was just lounging in a tree, but running her ass of hardly gave her the energy for any conversation, even if it would save her life… A pair of jaws snapped close at her heels, and she swore she could feel the heat of its breath on the back of her neck. Emma careened sideways, dodging its mouth. _And what do you mean, murders?_

"_Only other creatures of the forest can kill a Dargnell. If you do not send your mother and the warrior home, they will be as good as dead, next to us."_

_We're going to die? _Emma swallowed back the rising bile in her throat. She had never considered the possibility of never seeing her son again. All of this—everything up to this point—had been so she _could_ find Henry. And now?

"_Get a grip, Swan. Save those who you can save, and forget everything else. Give your son what you can." _A grandmother.

She choked back a sob, pausing momentarily before darting in a different direction. Her masked reserve quickly slammed back into place. She grit her teeth, fists clenching as she pushed herself harder to the left, stumbling her way through a stream before cutting across through the trees again. _Right. How are you going to distract it? _

"_I have a few ideas, love. When you find them, no explanations. Your mother will never let you send her without you. Lie. Do whatever it takes. But you cannot go with them. Magic forbids it. Understood?" _

_What do I do? _

A loud thundering echoed in her ears, followed by a crisp _snap! _as a tree gave way. It sounded as if the whole forest was breaking beneath the Dargnell's fury. There was a shout far off, and then Hook's voice returned. _"You have to be in physical contact with them both. All three of you must imagine home—your precious Storybrooke. Picture it in your heads, and wish them there._"

Okay, so maybe it _was_ that simple.

"_However, it requires a blood sacrifice of sorts. Touch both of them with your blood—the magic is in your blood from the bean."_

And maybe not.

_How much blood? _

"_Your arm should suffice,"_ he retorted bitingly. There was an underlying edge to his sarcastic tone—he was rushed. Emma could _feel_ him close, flanking her as he built up speed. The monster exploded in rage somewhere behind to her left, no doubt having caught Hook's scent, either mistaking him as competition for its prey, or realizing there were now _two _to hunt. Emma picked up her pace, searching inside her head for Hook as she stayed on course. She could _feel _him, furious and enraged for her. Her stomach tightened at the realization.

He was furious _for_ her, not _at_ her.

Something inside her willed her to turn, just for reassurance, to make sure he was there, to catch a glimpse of his face wielding the same emotions, but she quickly squandered the dying want. She didn't have time to see if he was keeping up, or if he was in range of the monster. She only had time for Mary Margaret.

_Anything else?_

Just as she sent the thought, something large and dense like concrete crashed into her side, whipping her neck to the side painfully and sending her into the air. Her shoulder caught the rugged side of a tree, crippling her body against its circular mass before she collapsed to the ground.

"_EMMA!"_

His frantic, incensed tone echoed sharply in her head, entwining with a heart-wrenching yell that matched its partner. Emma wheezed, trying desperately to catch her breath as pain wracked the right half of her body.

Hook.

He was close.

So close.

Emma slumped back, her left arm protectively blocking her right. She anchored her heels into the ground and pushed her weight against the tree, sliding up it as she fought the sudden onslaught of dizziness and nausea. The world spun before her, a sickening merry-go-round of trees, darkness, and shadows. _Three_ giant shadows that were stalking towards her.

She blinked.

Three became one, a more massive and detailed shadow emerging from the forest's dense protection. The Dargnell towered before her, forcing Emma to finally admit to herself that she _may_ have bitten off more than she could chew this time. Her revelation was renewed tenfold when her hazy vision cleared completely, revealing her nightmarish adversary.

Two stony tusks turned upwards from a curved, rock-like snout, which bent down over flaring nostrils. Nostrils she _swore_ were pumping out streams of smoke and emblazed steam. Beneath them parted row upon row of razor-sharp teeth, sheltered in a permanent, menacing grin. She watched as the creature worked its jaw, grinding together before cracking to regain its panted breath. Its tongue lolled out to the side, and if Emma hadn't been so frightened, she would have laughed at its likeness to a dog. Its tusks doubled back to shield two fiery pits—its eyes. Huge, patchy scales, the size of her hands, traced up the jawline to long, pointed ears covered in fur, twitching reflexively. They swiveled to and fro before finally flattening in an instinctive warning. Its neck, bulging with muscle, arched to meet its scaled body. As its shoulders heaved from the thrill of the chase, Emma's eyes were drawn to the mossy covering along its upper back—soft to the eyes but no doubt harboring some unknown danger. Perhaps another set of limbs tucked beneath the greenery. Or wings. Emma had just begun to notice its snake-like, branching tail when, all too close to her legs, pounded two enormous fists into the ground—fists which could have easily gripped half her body in one palm. With a glance, Emma realized its hind legs looked different from the forelegs, the former resembling limbs similar to the dragon she had encountered beneath the library's catacombs.

As her gaze flickered back to the Dargnell's, it leaned back on its haunches before driving its Emma-sized hands back into the ground. She gaped in horror as its knuckles sank beneath the uncanny demonstration of its unrivaled power. The beast leaned forward, snout inches away, before releasing an ear-shattering roar in her face. Emma swallowed back a scream, too weak to fight back. Her lungs constricted painfully inside her, and her lack of heart wasn't exactly making it easy to regain oxygen. But if she'd _had_ her heart, she might have been dead by now, no thanks to another fucking tree.

Whether or not he'd meant to, Hook's collateral damage over her heart was saving her life.

Emma Swan felt her chest tighten. She couldn't hate him for what he had done. She shut her eyes against the pain. Not once had he used it against her, to control her, as Cora would have done. If anything, he was keeping her alive. Emma couldn't _possibly_ hate him for that, could she?

At least, not at the moment when death was literally staring her in the face.

Without a heart to kill, the beast couldn't destroy her. Not with simple blows to trees. _That doesn't mean it won't try,_ her conscience reminded her numbly. _You may not be able to die, but you would certainly feel him tear your limbs apart. _

The Dargnell's snout exploded into a cloud of smoke, engulfing Emma with its steamy breath. It stomped its front right arm heavily into the ground again, stretching is neck forward to bare its pearly-white teeth at her. It almost looked as though it were sneering. Emma's wide eyes slid up to meet the Dargnell's. Fiery orbs glared back, narrowing and rooting her against the tree. Something inside her froze—she would guess her heart, but she knew better.

"_EMMA, DON'T!"_

A sudden streak of ice flooded her veins, flowing thickly and steadying her breath. _"Close your eyes, close your eyes, close your eyes…" _She felt her body growing slack, abruptly overwhelmed by the need to sleep. She tried to blink it away but found her eyes glued to the Dargnell's. It lowered its front half slowly, elbows jutting out, cocking its head to one side as the Dargnell leaned closer to get a better look at its prey. _"Its eyes, its eyes, close them, close them…" _Emma found her grasp on reality quickly fading. The trees around her began to sway and bend, their tips stretching to break ground like roots. The dirt beneath her coiled and rolled over her skin like a blanket. And the sky—from the corners of her eyes, Emma could see stars falling around and behind the Dargnell.

She sighed.

This was wrong.

The Dargnell was bending the universe backwards and taking her with it. Its eyes burned into hers—she felt herself falling.

This was all wrong.

But right.

She felt so warm, nestled between the tree's hollow grove and the giant shadow before her, radiating like a furnace.

So incredibly right.

The beast before her curled its fists in, supporting the Dargnell's front weight on knuckles like an ape before leaning in to brush one of its horns against her cheek. Its teeth clicked, the sound of a thousand swords clashing against one another.

Emma felt her lips tip up into a lazy smile. Her blood hummed loudly in her ears, just as the stars around her began to pummel the ground, exploding into millions of microscopic dust particles, all glowing in shades of red, orange, and yellow. Like fall. Her eyelids drooped, still holding onto the Dargnell's gaze. She felt herself growing heavy as she slid further into the earth, the monster's snout inches from her face. Another puff of steam lit and crackled the air around her head.

Just as her head slipped to the side, the world growing dark and the Dargnell's lips curling back in what could only be described as gluttonous satisfaction, her wrist exploded in pain just beneath the leather bracer. A guttural growl simultaneously broke through somewhere to her right. And then, before Emma gave into the heady cloud of stars, she saw _him_.

The beast whipped its head around, but not in time for the first stroke of his sword, which drove violently into the Dargnell's flank.

"She's _mine,_" Hook snarled.

She saw stars. And nothing more.

* * *

**x**

**x**

**x**

**Comments are appreciated! Never underestimate the impact you might have by leaving a thoughtful review.**


	11. Chapter 10

**As always, HUGE thank you to my reviewers and readers. Special shout out to Maiqu, Lisa1972, Purple Carnation, faithonhold, PeaceHeather, Tentacion Prohibida, RedWolf198, mali86, 5289belle, Featherstrike, BitMundane, Autumn, amz- 123, Musicalfan2012, Angel Marie Winchester, and Ni Castle! **

**Heads up. This chapter was a difficult one to write, and you will see why. Keep in mind, last we left Emma, she was beginning to experience hallucinations from the Dargnell. This chapter's a long one, twisted with emotion and stream of consciousness, hence fragmented segments (because, as we know, the mind rarely makes sense). So hold onto your hats, folks. I hope I did it justice. **

**Now, without further ado, to reward you for your patience and kind reviews and my overdue update, I give you The Longest Chapter Ever. **

* * *

Chapter 10

**x**

"_**I am a dreamer and when I wake,**_

_**You can't break my spirit—it's my dreams you take.**_

_**And as you move on, remember me, **_

_**Remember us and all we used to be…"**_

**x**

**x**

**x**

Emma Swan could not lose this.

She knew it, repeated it like a mantra, as she dashed madly between trees, weaving her escape route between layer upon layer of oak and pine. The scent flooded her nostrils, leaving a heady aroma wafting about her. But she had to focus. There was no more turning back for her. She could not lose this. She could _not_ lose _this._

Emma's heart thundered loudly in her ears, pounding in tandem with her lengthy stride. She had lost her shoes somewhere in the chase, but somehow she knew it didn't matter. The forest flew past her in a blue of incandescent emeralds. Each branch, each finger of pine, felt like hands whispering across bare skin as she skipped past. Grass melted into snow, and soon each knotted arm of bark she passed was caked with white frost. It was beautiful. Perfect.

She soared past a frozen bank of water, heart racing wildly. Emma skidded in her tracks and dove behind a large oak laden with snow-dusted ivy. Her stomach flip-flopped as she sucked an icy breath deep into her lungs, intoxicated by the forest, and waited, careful to keep her smoking exhalations at minimum visibility.

A branch snapped behind the tree, to her left. The crackling noise was followed by an undertone of mutterings and the shattering of ice.

The intruder, whoever he was, clearly failed when it came to stealth.

Emma braced herself against the tree, eyes alert for the slightest movement or coloration in her white-and-green peripheral world.

On bated breath, she saw it.

A flash of silver.

The image conjured a rush of emotions, blocking her airway and strangling her gut with sickening butterflies. Without thinking, she lunged, launching herself out from the tree and tackling her stalker onto the ground. The figure struggled, but she was quick to halt his movements. Swiping the hair out of her face, she lifted her head up to assess her victim.

A pair of murky, green eyes stared back at her. Wide with incredulity.

She opened her mouth—

"_Mom?_" a tiny voice rang out from behind. Emma's mouth slammed shut as she twisted her eyes away from the man beneath her. She scanned the rows of trees before finally settling on—

"Henry," she breathed out, softening gaze sweeping over his insulated, puffy vest that rendered him comparable to a large, white marshmallow. His miniature hands were desperately trying to hold up a sled at his side. He grinned widely at her, revealing a gaping hole where his two front teeth should have been. And dimples the size of craters, dug sweetly amidst rosy cheeks. Emma froze. He couldn't have been more than six years old. And yet, she would have known that face anywhere.

An uncomfortable cough from beneath her broke Emma's softened stare. Henry cocked his head to the side, brunette bangs falling lazily into his face. "Mom, you are _out_ of con_trol_," he flapped his gloved hands at his sides. "Dad said this was a no-tackling fight. You cheated!" He froze, his head suddenly righting before eyes popping wide as saucers. "Is this one of those mom-dad moments I shouldn't have walked in on? Because I think it's too late."

Emma felt the rumbling laughter of the man beneath her. He quickly took advantage of the moment to slip his wrists out from beneath Emma's grasp and slide one arm around her waist, holding her to him. Without warning, Emma's face suddenly met a handful of snow.

"Karma, kid," the voice chuckled as Emma sputtered, using the back of her hand to wipe away the ice. She blinked down at her snowball assailant, heart caught in her throat.

It couldn't be.

_Could it?_

Neal.

_Her _Neal.

He grinned up at her cheekily before leaning up to peck a chaste kiss on her red nose. He easily maneuvered Emma out of his arms and onto the cold snow, jumping to his feet and grabbing the silver handles of his own sled—the one that Emma had knocked aside in her attack.

"Last one there's a rotten egg!" Henry screamed over his shoulder, his small boots kicking up white powder as he took off around a bend of trees, giggling hysterically when a vengeful Neal began to fire snowballs after his retreating figure.

Neal waited until Henry was out of eyesight before turning back to face Emma. "You okay there, babe?"

Emma stared up at him. Something about this felt…_right?_ She swallowed, distracting herself by dusting the remaining snow out of her hair. "Yeah, I—I'm fine."

Neal propped his sled against a nearby tree, kneeling down to help Emma to her own knees. He frowned, allowing his gaze to slide down her hunched, snow-covered form. "Normally, I don't mind it rough," he smiled sadly, "but I don't think _now_'s the best time for you to grow a pair and go all Chuck Norris on your husband."

_Husband. _Emma glanced down. Sure enough, a ring sat on her left hand. Brilliant like the snow.

The world tilted on its side, a spindle-top of white, green, and Neal.

Oh _hell_, she thought wearily, burrowing her mitten-less fingers in her hair rather than face Neal head on. She could practically feel his gaze narrow on her before a gloved set of fingers gently tilted her chin up.

"What's wrong?" The concern in his voice. The sorrow in his eyes. Emma's gut twisted and bent back on itself. She pulled her chin away before her eyes settled on a set of deep prints in the snow. Prints that fanned out, pointed, and nearly as large as her hands. If she didn't know any better, she would have bet they belonged to a dog's. A soft whirring in her ears rose in a heightened crescendo; she winced at its pitch.

Emma tried to shake her head, but the world was spinning. She felt cornered, trapped against a building somewhere in an alley. She was anxious, checking her newly acquired watch. Rising up and down on her toes before scanning the night and withdrawing her cellphone. Punching in seven familiar digits. Rejection. _"Damn right it's an error…" "Unless he set you up. Hands above your head please, miss!" _

"Emma? Emma!" Neal's voice broke through the ringing. Teary eyes blinked away her fuzzy vision. She looked up at Neal, hovering over her protectively as he hooked his arms beneath her elbows. He steered her to her feet before hauling her against him. Emma leaned into his chest, lifting her hand to hold his bristly cheek. She slid her fingers along the stubble. Her thumb swept along his lower lip. His nostrils flared, brows tenting beneath the weight of their confusion. "Emma?" he asked softly.

She felt as though she'd been away forever. Somewhere else. Her stomach somersaulted when Neal's hands came up to cup her cheeks, pulling her close until her forehead met his. He searched her eyes desperately.

Emma leaned into his touch. "You," she sighed, refusing to close her eyes—fear of reality and illusion forcing her to drink everything in.

"Me," he whispered back.

"And Henry," she grinned, reaching up on her toes to press her lips firmly against his. Neal's hands swept down behind her thighs, hauling her up and against him. Emma's bare feet locked at the ankles behind his waist, allowing him to back them against a tree as his mouth met hers again. She was entirely unsure how this had come to be—where she had come from, who had made this possible, or what had happened just an hour before. Of one thing she _was_ certain: she could _not_ lose _this._

* * *

_Lub dub…_

_Lub dub…_

She woke up screaming. Something snake-like slithered around her torso and between her legs, squeezing and ensnaring her fast against a damp surface. Emma fidgeted, lungs unable to catch up with her heart. A roaring furnace engulfed her bare wrist. She cried out.

_Lub dub…_

_Lub dub…_

Fingers, firm and relentless, dug into her upper arm, tearing her away from her mind and ripping her out, into the confines of the tangled bed sheets and clammy mattress, drenched with her sweat. Emma opened her mouth to scream again at the unfamiliar curtains fluttering in a summer's breeze, the flowery wallpaper, and the shadow hovering over her. The darkness wrapped a steady hand over her lips, forcing her to contain and swallow her sobs.

_Lub dub…_

_Lub dub…_

"Heyhey_hey, _Emma, shh_hhhh_, it's okay. I've got you. I've got you." The voice drummed in her ears like a sickeningly-sweet mantra. It shook her to the core, those words, coming out of _his_ lips.

_Lub dub…_

_Lub dub…_

"I'm not letting go, Emma. Shhhush," he twisted so her back faced his chest, drawing her in with a strong arm and tucking her protectively into his chest. He fit so perfectly, Emma thought, her lips stuttering in an effort to catch up with her timid heartbeat. Like a puzzle piece. "I'm not letting you go back there. You're safe here. Emma, _you're safe." _The darkness loomed before her. She could faintly make out a shape, crouched and stalking slowly towards her. The click of nails on hardwood beat in tandem with her heart. Two bright, blue orbs stared back possessively. Emma squeezed her eyes shut and used her toes to edge herself back into the warmth behind her. One hand splayed protectively across her abdomen. The other circled beneath her neck and around, using his fingers to gently sweep back her matted hair. He tucked his face into the crook of her neck, breathing her in. "What was it this time?"

Emma blinked back the tears. "Magic. These—these _monsters._ And pirates," she shuddered, "and a world without hearts. Without _you_," her voice cracked on the last word. She wasn't making sense—she could feel her mind fraying at the seams. None of this made sense. She bent in on herself, curling into the tightest ball imaginable. She despised the vulnerability, but she felt as though all her defenses had been stripped, there in that bedroom with fluttering curtains, flowery wallpaper, and Neal.

She could _not_ lose _this. _

_Lub dub…_

_Lub dub…_

* * *

"Mom! _Mom! _Watch _this_ one, Mom!"

Emma's heart skipped a beat at the sound of his voice, his laughter.

"Henry?" she questioned the snow-covered winter surrounding her, twisting in circles. She narrowed her eyes through the swirling blizzard. Emma waited on bated breath. "Henry?!"

_Emma._

She stilled, heart clenching in her throat. There, just beyond a white-dusted fur, crouched something dark. Covered in fur.

_Emma, bloody brilliant Emma._

A red tongue slipped out amidst the gray, licking at its bared canines.

_Let me help you…_

One giant paw left the confines of its shadow, bracing against the snow. Emma did not miss the lengthened nails, nor the size of the animal's girth compared to her. It—whatever _it_ was—stood enormously at three or three-and-a-half feet, hunkered down against the snow.

_I was hoping—_

"_No!_" she screamed, turning her back on the threatening shadow before—

"Emma?" Neal's arm looped through hers, appearing from nowhere and calmly taking her in stride with him. The warmth flooding from him instantly soothed her mind.

Neal led her steadily away from the shadow. Towards Henry, whose voice wafted in and out with the wind, coming from everywhere and nowhere simultaneously. She squeezed Neal's hand, hard. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, smiling softly before tugging her along faster, picking up their pace. The snow, crunching delicately beneath her bare, warm toes, slowly faded into peach-colored grains. The sand shifted beneath her weight, folding over her feet. Emma found it harder to keep up with Neal, who was jogging towards the sound of Henry's tiny laughter and delightful screams. They finally broke through the barricade of tropical flora.

Gone was Henry's winter ensemble. Donned now in purple swim trunks, he appeared just slightly older than when she'd last seen him. He'd abandoned his sand empire for the foaming waves, clutching a board and trying desperately to overcome the surf. Emma watched, breath taken, to find Neal suddenly in the water with Henry, helping shove him past the hurdle of saltwater. Her hand felt all too empty now, and she squeezed the air, feeling her nails dig into her palm and leave tiny half-moon indentions into the skin. Even as her toes hesitantly dug their way through the sand, forcefully leading her towards a blanket of towels and a cooler, Emma found herself in a daze. She briefly wondered if it were possible for something to be _too _perfect, _too _right. From wherever the hell it was she'd left off in life, she had a nagging suspicion that _this_ was not it. But it felt good, so good. The sight of Henry and Neal, together, with the ocean's subtle roaring crashing into the sand, a salty breeze tousling her hair. And, just beyond the nearest sand dune, nestled amidst palm trees, sat a house. Light blue with white shutters, and a white picket fence haphazardly shoved into the sand.

Their house.

Emma, suddenly regaining her senses, forced herself to shut out the doubt. Suspicion be damned. This was _her _life, damnit, and she'd fight to hell and back to prove it. This was _hers, _and she could _not_ lose _this. _

* * *

"Hey, mind grabbing me a beer?" Emma looked up from her novel to find Neal standing before her, drenched in saltwater and hair a shaggy mess. She grinned.

"Sure." Her arm disappeared inside the red cooler, fishing around before grabbing two bottles. Neal collapsed in the sand next to her, dropping his head lazily into her lap and twisting off the cap. Emma twisted off her own beer, clinking her glass and lifting it to her lips.

"_Damnit_, Emma, what the _hell_ do you think you're doing?!" Neal hissed, shooting up and jerking the bottle out of her hands forcefully. Emma stared at him, open-mouthed.

"Having a drink, _officer, _what does it look like?" she snapped.

Neal narrowed his eyes sharply. "You really think that's the best idea, all things considered?" He glanced down toward her stomach for emphasis.

"Look," Emma ground out, "Vacation tends to add a few pounds. So what?" She turned her head to the side, turning her glare towards the forest of palm trees and refusing to look at him. Her eyes caught hold of something dark just beyond the tropical brush. It had been moving fast, but froze suddenly under her gaze. It paused, head bowing almost in acknowledgment, before resuming its pacing along the boundary. Her heart pounded furiously.

"_Look,_" Neal mocked her angrily, but Emma interrupted him.

"Neal, do we have a dog?" Her voice was hollow, laced with fear. Neal pushed forward anyway, ignoring her.

"I know this isn't our first, but I'd prefer to avoid FAS at all costs. Okay with you?" He twisted the cap back on before placing her beer rather forcefully back into the cooler, dropping the lid shut. Neal's words jerked her back into the present, away from the stalking animal in the distance.

Fetal alcohol syndrome? But that would have to mean…

_Oh._

Neal nodded as he watched the wheels click in her mind. He blew out a breath before abandoning his own beer, slipping behind her and planting his legs on either side of her hips. His arms circled around, drawing her back against his chest. His hands, so rough and yet soft, splayed across her bare abdomen, one reaching down to toy with the strings of her bikini bottom. "Look, I know this isn't going to be easy. But we can do this. We've done it before. And we're _ready_ this time. Look at Henry." Emma glanced up, eyes settling on Henry giggling uncontrollably as he splashed in the water. Neal tightened his grip on Emma, and she returned her gaze back to where his hands rested protectively over her. "He didn't turn out so bad. We'll be _fine. _You've got _me, _and I'm not going anywhere, Emma Swan. _Trust me._"

Emma swallowed back the lump in her throat.

He wasn't going anywhere.

Neal wasn't going anywhere.

"Okay," she whispered.

"We're in this together," he reassured, bending over to plant a kiss in the crook of her neck. Emma shivered against him, and she could feel him grin as his lips remained where they were, ghosting across her shoulder before lightly nipping there. Emma twisted around in his arms, reaching up to capture his lips with hers. They collapsed there, in the sand, entangled amidst the thundering of the ocean and Henry's screaming laughter.

A blazing sun sat high overhead. Emma, knees drawn to her chest, folded herself against the heat, unmoving, and watching Henry and Neal play on the beach in the surf.

"Mom, come in! The water's great!" Henry yelled, just before Neal leapt through the surf and dunked Henry's head underwater. Emma laughed, settling back on her elbows to spread her legs out, content to watch them play.

"Go ahead, kid. I'm no match for your dad."

"But _mom_," he whined, "I need reinforcements!"

Emma shook her head, chuckling as Henry was once again tackled into the water by Neal, who flashed a quick grin at her before swimming out of reach of Henry's splashing. She sighed, leaning back and collapsing against the hot sand, shading her eyes to stare up at the darkened blue overhead. Stars. Falling stars. Neal had told her once this beach was the only place in the world you could consistently see them, even in daylight. She watched as the very trees seemed to stretch towards the spell-bounding sight, as though they were attempting to uproot themselves in an effort to touch the falling starts. Attempting to defy gravity.

A familiar burning sensation shot unexpectedly up her wrist. Emma reached down, massaging the skin bitterly as the pain fled before returning her hands to the small bump of her stomach. Small, but noticeable. Emma sighed, allowing her hands to lazily trace patterns along her belly. She was beyond ready but still had months to go. Neal had transformed the guest room into a nursery, filled with a crib, stuffed animals, blue and pink paint cans—he had decided to leave the walls unpainted until Emma's next ultrasound, but she wanted it to be a surprise. Emma grinned to herself. Neal _hated _surprises.

Emma's thoughts came to an abrupt halt, however, as a new sound entered her range of hearing.

Opposing Henry and Neal's laughter.

Scuffling.

A shifting in sand. Directly behind her.

_Stay calm. Stay calm. Probably just a squirrel or something. _

_You idiot, _her conscience broke through, _squirrels don't live on the beach. _

…_do they?_

Rather than face it and fight, Emma sat up and curled her knees up to her chest, choosing to believe that if there was anything truly dangerous, Neal would have seen it and shouted. But as he continued to chuckle and dunk Henry, flashing his grin at Emma, she assumed everything was as it should be. And that she was merely suffering from dementia. Or losing her mind. No big deal.

As the shuffling grew closer, however, she realized Neal was entirely ignorant of their beach's intruder. Desperate to protect herself and her unborn, Emma honed all of her attention on what sounded like footsteps in the sand. Something was approaching her.

She shut her eyes tight, slightly outraged at the display of cowardice she had reduced herself to. But this was a perfect world. And in a perfect world, nothing bad happened. Ever.

She bowed her head to her knees and waited. A few more seconds passed before the figure made its way confidently up to her, no longer bound by its hesitant pacing. Emma sucked in a deep breath. Only to find, a second later, the entire right half of her face covered in something _wet_, oozing down into her ear. She squeaked in surprise, shoving herself away in the sand and wiping saliva off with the back of her hand.

_Wait. _

_Saliva?! _

Emma cracked her eyes open, ready to strike her heel out for defense. Her eyes, wary and alarmed, settled on a large, gray dog…wolf…_thing. _It was huge, and would have easily towered over her by a few inches on all fours, if she had been sitting up straight. The salty air lightly ruffled its fur, making it appear as if the entire creature were moving when in actuality it was as still as a stone, mere inches from Emma's face. Its wide, guarded, cerulean eyes watched her carefully, calculating her next move to its slobbery attack. When Emma made no defensive effort, the large wolf plopped itself heavily on the sand next to her and cracked its mouth open in a panting smile, head cocked to the side playfully.

While the wolf may have been perfectly at peace with the situation, Emma Swan could not, for the life of her, calmly understand why there was a huge, fucking wolf laying at her side. Not eating her. Emma laughed hesitantly, scooting herself cautiously away from the giant dog. "Didn't taste that appetizing, did I, big girl?"

The wolf instantly pulled its upper lip back over its teeth, baring them with a wicked snarl, eyes gone black.

"Boy! Sorry, I meant _boy_!" He snorted loudly, shaking his head before returning to his original, panting position. Emma could have sworn that, in the process of recovered dignity, the giant dog had inched closer. One large paw outstretched towards her. "God, Emma Swan, you are losing it." She licked her lips, which had suddenly gone dry, before turning her attention to Neal, who currently had Henry sitting atop his shoulders as he ran through the waves.

_Waves. The ocean. Not all dogs like the ocean. _Emma swallowed back a grin. Maybe she could get rid of the overgrown fleabag after all. The wolf twisted his head around the other way, as if trying to follow her train of thought. Without warning, Emma shot off towards the water.

"Neal!" she shouted, sprinting down the beach. "Take Henry and get ba—" Emma tripped unexpectedly over the furry missile that had galloped after her, misjudging his distance in haste to beat Emma to the water. She twisted so her shoulder took the brunt of her fall, rather than her stomach. Despite her best efforts, Emma still managed to eat a mouthful of sand—all for that stupid wolf's lack of observation powers, experiencing major sand burn in the process. And she was quite positive a good amount had made its way into her bikini.

"_Fuck,_" she spat between mouthfuls of sand. The wolf skidded to a stop, U-turning on its haunches before loping back up to Emma, tongue hanging out of its mouth. He ducked his head down, sniffing, as if giving her a once-over, before nudging her side with his muzzle. Wet nose and all.

"Emma, you okay?" Neal laughed, trotting forward with Henry out of the deeper water.

When Emma didn't answer, Neal's voice grew concerned, shouldering Henry off and down into the water.

Emma threw her hand up, warning him off. "I'm _fine_."

"The baby?" he demanded, but Emma waved him off again, suddenly conscious of the tense, possessive stance the wolf had taken in front of her.

"We're okay," she assured, utterly baffled _how _Neal was so blind to the furball practically tucking Emma behind its massive bearing. "I fell on my side. It's _sand,_" she reminded him. "Nothing too jarring."

"I swear, you could trip over a piece of lint," he shook his head, grinning at her.

She snorted. "Try three _feet_ of lint."

"Your legs aren't _that_ hairy." He quickly whirled Henry around to avoid the prompt presentation of Emma's middle finger. Emma sighed, annoyed at Neal, and more so at the fact that he seemed to be completely _oblivious_ of the giant-ass wolf that had sprawled out next to her, resting his heavy head on the dip between her ribs and hip.

"I swear to _God_, if that is drool and not rain running down my back, I am skinning you for a winter coat," Emma hissed.

He let loose a high-pitched whine, keening for either sympathy or attention. Emma merely rolled her eyes and shoved his immense head away, pulling herself to her feet and dusting the sand off her body. The wolf clambered to his feet, quickly at her side and shoving his large forehead against her hand, needy. She jerked it away. "No."

He snapped angrily, teeth audibly clicking as his eyes rolled to black once more. His head twisted in tandem with his suddenly crouching body. Muzzle pulled back in ripples of muscle. Obviously threatened.

_Goddamn…_

"Babe, seriously, are you alright?" Neal was vacating the ocean, shaking his head to rid his hair of water. Emma glanced up. _Neal. He doesn't like Neal._

She protectively placed a hand on her stomach before nodding furiously, eyes trained on the wolf whose hackles had risen as if by static electricity. He bore his teeth and licked them threateningly at Neal, back hunched and prepared to attack. Razor sharp teeth snapped loudly, and it was as if his eyes had stormed over in blood-red darkness. "Neal, get back in the water."

"What?"

"_Now._" She looked up at him pleadingly. "Don't—don't leave Henry alone."

Neal frowned uncertainly but did as she asked. The moment Neal retreated, the monster at her side calmed down, licking his lips and returning his heavy gaze up to Emma's. In an effort not to make a scene—especially over an invisible canine—Emma made her way towards their beach house, the wolf trotting at her side, its tongue lolling and panting excitedly as if any other dog on a walk with its owner. She breathed a sigh of relief. It had no interest in Henry or Neal, and now that they were far enough away... Emma's heart leapt as she made a quick decision. This was _her _world, and nothing was going to ruin it for her. She would take care of this, passively at first, and if necessary- well, she knew where Neal kept his pistol.

When Emma had made it to the door, she sprinted madly, twisting on her toes to lock the screen door in his face. In hindsight, a poor decision.

"Ha!" she shouted, latching it just as the wolf pressed his nose against the screen. "Now shoo! Or I'll call the pound on you."

Instantly, the wolf hunkered down, baring his teeth and issuing a low, guttural growl. A threat.

"Oh, already had a brush with the law, have we?" Emma waltzed over to the nearby coffee table where she'd left her phone that morning. "Well, I'm sure they're missing you by now. So we'll just—"

The wolf reared up, bracing its giant paws—nearly the size of Emma's hands—on the screen. She watched with horror as his cutthroat nails dug into the screen, already forcing holes into the wire material. Emma shook her head at it, pointing furiously. "_No_. _Down_."

The wolf _grinned_ at her—actually tipped the corners of its mouth up as its blue eyes bent in a narrowing motion. Cocky. Arrogant. Son. Of. A. Bitch.

Emma backed away, hands raised. She held the phone in the air. "Back off, Mutt From Hell," she warned.

Those were the last words out of her mouth before, pushing with his muscular haunches, the wolf leaned with all his weight into the screen door. The feeble material came crashing down beneath his braced mass. He gingerly picked his nails out from the screen before shifting his weight and flattening his ears. Those eyes. Those cerulean eyes.

Emma's posture went rigid. "Wait. Do I—?"

His jaw snapped, blackened eyes zeroing in on the dialing cellphone tucked in her hand. Without thinking, she had already dialed 911, thumb ready to press send.

Emma clamped her mouth shut, biting back a scream.

The wolf charged.

**x**

**x**

**x**

* * *

**Cute puppy, right? Originally, this portion of the story was only supposed to be a chapter…too much fun has spread into three. I'll leave it up to you to decide what's real and what's not. *wink wink* And **_**what**_** is the **_**deal **_**with the **_**wolf**_**?! Remember: not everything is as it seems. Especially in our most subconscious state of mind. **

**You are, at this time, _most_ cordially invited to review. Love and constructive criticism is most appreciated. **


	12. Chapter 11

**Let me begin by giving EVERY ONE OF YOU an imaginary HUG. You guys are incredible—major shout out to those of you recently following the story, and my ever-awesome reviewers (I would name you, but I've already taken up so much room with actual story. Shout-outs in the next chapter!). **

**Don't know about you all, but I'm already suffering from OUAT withdrawal… Anyway, I would like to dedicate this chapter to the soundtrack of Mighty Joe Young—can never go wrong with some James Horner for writing inspiration. **

**Warning: this chapter is going to be a major toy with your emotions. You may want some tissues or a punching bag nearby. And, remember how I said the last chapter was The Longest Chapter Ever? Well…I lied… Hold onto your hats, folks, because we're going further down the rabbit hole of Emma's dreamscape. Without further ado…**

* * *

Chapter 11

**x**

"_**Your head is running wild again**_

_**My dear we still have everything**_

_**And it's all in your mind**_

_**(Yeah but this is happening)…"**_

**x**

**x**

**x**

Emma was on the ground.

To put it less gracefully, she was sprawled across a couch cushion, a splintered table leg, tangled in the homeland phone cord, with one foot still caught over the couch's back. She was, essentially, upside down.

And the culprit, the Spawn of Satan, that had so _delicately_ landed her on her ass, was currently _eating_ her cell phone.

She winced as the screen cracked beneath the hellish mongrel's pointed canines. Emma twisted her neck to the side when an audible gulp preceded the rhythmic sound of contented panting. No plastic, no remnants of a chewed Otter Box, and no glass—the damn flea-ridden garbage disposal had swallowed her phone whole.

"God, I hope you choke and die on that. Or suffer from radiation poisoning. Stupid…_dog_," she bit out, trying to disentangle herself from the cord's shackles. Emma was nearly done—one spiral to go—with her leg still caught on the couch's rim, half upside-down, when she heard the tell-tale sound of nails clicking on wood. It was her only warning before something warm and _wet_ greeted her lips. She squealed, sputtering and trying to shove the mutant oaf out of her face, but to no avail. Apparently he was taking her struggle as a sign of reciprocated love.

Typical fucking male.

Emma shut her eyes, forcing herself to count to ten. And not kill the damn mutt the first chance she had. To think, she used to be _fond_ of wolves. Emma scoffed. What the hell had she known? Clearly, nothing. Assload of nuisance.

She froze when she felt that small patch of cold and wet skin nuzzle her bare stomach. Emma cracked an eye open, curious as to—_oh. _The wolf's eyes were narrowed on the small bump of her belly, nostrils flaring and lips slightly parted, panting but more in exasperation than excitement. His ears rotated in wild circles, from flat to forward, then flat again. As if he thought she had something _foreign_ growing inside her. Emma frowned, reaching down and pushing his monstrous head away. He gave a little before resuming his rather _wet_ examination of her.

"No. Shove _off_," she tried again, but he merely dodged her maneuver, bobbing his head out of reach before ducking it and letting out a soft, guttural growl.

Mother Bear Emma was _so_ not cool with this.

"Back the fuck off," she hissed, suddenly twisting her way out of the phone cord and off the couch's back, rising to her feet. Before she could move out of distance, the wolf snapped, as if saying _Hold still,_ and reared back on its haunches, cornering Emma's waist against the couch's back. His giant front paws landed on the firm bracing, on either side of Emma's hips, while he continued to sniff at her abdomen.

Since he wouldn't listen to commands, maybe he'd listen to reason. _Get a grip, Emma,_ her conscience reprimanded, but she quickly pushed it aside, lifting a hand to hesitantly pat the wolf's outstretched neck. He froze, a ripple of tension invading every muscle. Gaining courage, she began to thread her fingers through his thick fur, tousling his mane and digging in deeper. His tail began to sway back and forth. Wagging. But his nose was still pressed curiously against her belly. Emma sighed. "It's Neal's."

As if he knew who Neal was.

But, it seemed, with the sudden bark of annoyance that escaped his curled lips, that he _did_ know _exactly_ who Neal was. And did _not_ approve of her situation. At all.

"We're married," Emma tried again. The tail ceased wagging, and a second bark lowered into a consistent, displeased humming groan.

"We already have Henry. So it's…okay, really." Emma's heart stopped. She could have palmed her forehead right then, if her arms weren't practically trapped between the wolf's abrasive posture and within his fur. _Great, Emma, just great. You're explaining yourself—_your _pregnancy—to a complete stranger…dog…thing. Like you owe it _any _sort of explanation._

The wolf glanced up at her with his sharp blue eyes before bowing his giant head, softly pressing the curve of his muzzle and forehead to her stomach. Emma swallowed back the bile rising in her throat, shocked and sickened by the tenderness with which a wild animal was showing her. Emma's hands, still tangled in his thick fur, stilled as the wolf pressed his weight gently against her, a high-pitched whine escaping his parted lips.

The sound, curved and broken, resonated like silver in her ears. Silver. _Silver. Curved. Hooked. _A face, achingly familiar yet completely unknown, flashed behind her eyes—the mere shadow of a man. But it meant something. She was supposed to do something. The adrenaline coursing in her veins increased tenfold, surging energy throughout her body. She felt like running. Like escaping. _She's mine. She's mine. She's mine. She's—_

The pressure disappeared in an instant. Emma heard the soft trickling of water and blinked away her clouded vision. Rubbing the bridge of her nose, she sighed, feeling the telltale signs of a migraine coming on. _ If it weren't for the kid, I could _so _use a shot of bourbon right now. _"Hey, where'd you—_NO! BAD DOG! YOU—DAMNIT—STUPID BAD DOG!"_ Emma shouted, flapping her hands at the wolf, who had casually pranced over to Neal's favorite chair and unceremoniously lifted his hind leg at it.

Peeing all over the leather exterior.

_Make that an entire mason jar of moonshine and a new fur coat._

* * *

"Mom! _Mom!_" an older Henry cried, his heavier feet pounding up the porch steps.

Emma, exhausted, let out an irritated sigh, throwing down the dish rag. She braced herself on the counter, staring out at the waves before sucking in a deep breath and turning to face a red-faced, shirtless Henry.

"What is it, kid?" She sounded tired; being the mother of two had worn her energy thin.

"_Mommm!_" He bolted forward, grabbing Emma's wrist and giving it a tug. "Dad's going to _kill_ Coda—you have to see!"

The color drained from her face. "What happened?"

"I _swear_ I was watching, just like you said, but I _swear, _Mom, I _swear_ I just turned my back for, like, two seconds and—" his words faded away. Emma was running, leaving Henry behind and shoving herself out the side door to their cement patio.

She froze at the sight of colors, painted and scrawled across the surface. Imaginative hues and designs of stick figures and what appeared to be a large boat— more like a dark concave object—on a giant fuss of blue. A purple, dragon-like creature stood beneath the makings of a palm tree on one corner of the patio, blowing out purple smoke. She saw blue with bright orange and yellow stars, falling into the scribbled ocean. But the symbolic signature that made her heart freeze was the white and black half-hearts brandishing every spare inch of pavement left untouched by the ocean, dragon, or figures. It curved alarmingly, pointed at the tip before curving around to where it should have met the other side—dozens of painted hooks littering her patio.

_Painted. _

Not chalk.

_Shit._

Emma's focus of the subject matter was quickly distracted by the realization of what _permanent_ medium her daughter had used. Spray paint. She'd somehow managed, in the "two seconds" Henry had given her, to wriggle her way into Neal's spray paint can supply.

She felt a short tug on her shirt sleeve. Emma looked down towards Henry—though she didn't have to look down as far. His head was nearly at her shoulder now, just past her elbow.

He grinned toothily at her. "Does this mean I get to be an only child again?"

Emma bristled. "_No._"

"I think Coda'd like to be an orphan. She's always running off on her own anyway. Hey! She could be one of those Lost Boys, like in Peter Pan? Go off on adventures—"

His words, striking a chord, made Emma feel sick to her stomach. And she hadn't the faintest clue why. "Henry, _stop._ Neal can fix this. He's good at fixing things."

"Like permanent paint?"

"_Henry!_" Emma groaned. She turned her glare back down on the ruined pavement, only to realize the artist of said masterpiece was nowhere to be found. "Henry, where's your sister?"

He shrugged, turning to head back inside. "I left her on the beach. Playing with sand castles."

The bitter taste in Emma's mouth increased tenfold. "You left her alone?!" she screeched, taking off down the wooden stairs and sprinting across the pavement into the sand. Emma glanced down, spotting a pair of dog prints in the sand. On gut instinct, she decided to follow them, dashing around a sand dune and shooting a quick prayer to God that everything was okay. That she wouldn't live to regret that day.

"_Mmmmia!"_

Emma skidded to a halt, twisting in her tracks and spotting her daughter halfway down the stretch of sand. In nothing but diapers, Coda sat with her hands splashing the surface of a shallow tide pool. Giggling like the little monster she was. Emma's heart slowly sank down from her throat, settling idly back in her chest. She was fine. Coda was fine. Her breathing slowed as she gingerly trotted towards her daughter, the painting incident forgotten.

"Coda! _Dakota Cassidy_, what did I tell you about going to the beach by yourself?" Emma demanded, collapsing on her knees and scooping her daughter up into her arms. She pressed her hand to the back of her daughter's jet black hair and breathed in her scent, a hypnotizing combination of saltwater, cedar, and something that smelled like winter's first snow. Emma crushed her child to her, blinking back the hot tears that were steadily pooling in her eyes. Fear like she had never known seemed to have overtaken her body. She despised the way its uncertainty wracked her core, sending spine-tingling shivers through every fiber of her being, every vein, and into her very heart. She felt _drained, _almost as if death had sat laughing on her shoulder and was drinking it all in.

Emma nearly melted when she felt two tiny hands wrap around her neck and squeeze her back. "Mmmmia puh-lay?" she whispered in awe, most likely at the prospect of her mother sprinting to join her in her adventures.

Emma shook her head, laughing softly. "Mommy was scared. Afraid something had happened to you. You can't—you can't just disappear like that, you know? You have to stay with your brother—he has to watch you. I _can't_ lose _you_." She pulled back, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand to face her daughter bravely. Coda blinked up at her, steel-blue eyes wide and confused, unable to comprehend Emma's distress.

Suddenly furious, Coda's head swiveled back and forth, pointing somewhere behind Emma. "Mmmmia have Killy. Killy puh-lay with Coda. Killy watch."

Emma scrunched up her nose in distaste before understanding dawned in her eyes. "Right, nothing to worry about because your imaginary friend was watching you. My bad," she grumbled haughtily.

Coda stuck out her tongue. "No'm, Mmmmia. Killy. _Killy!_" she squealed in frustration, pointing again at something over Emma's shoulder.

Emma twisted around, her heart sinking.

Just a foot away, completely still and watching Emma with a guarded expression, sat the damn wolf. His bright blue eyes narrowed then widened before bowing his head slightly and pulling his hindquarters up, approaching Emma cautiously. His behavior, entirely uncalled for due to her begrudged acceptance of him over the past years, radiated with guilt.

Coda clumsily climbed to her wobbly, short legs before stumbling over to the wolf and face-planting into his furry chest, weaving her knobby fingers into his thick mane and giggling uncontrollably. Emma reached for Coda, but the little girl squirmed out of her reach, moving instead to firmly take hold of the wolf's tail. He let out a soft yelp, maneuvering his hind legs away before lowering his neck and allowing her to grasp hold of his withers. "Coda, you can see him?" Emma asked softly. Until now, she'd been so sure…_so sure I was insane, losing my damn head. _

Coda let loose a childish squeal. "Killy, Mmmmia! _Killy!_"

That name.

That _name._

Emma could have sworn it sent her heart skipping a beat before flooding her veins with ice. Her face flushed at the unbidden warmth flooding the pit of her stomach.

_That's a good girl…you've got me to protect you…_

…_protect you…_

…_protect you…_

"CODA!" an angered yell broke her thoughts. Emma blinked past the foggy haze that had suddenly overtaken her, eyes zeroing in on Neal rushing down the steps. "I specifically," he huffed, waving his arms towards the pavement, "asked you _not_ to get—" but his words were lost in an abrupt wind. Emma brushed back the hair in her face, turning back to Coda and the wolf. Coda had resumed playing in the tide pool, while the wolf had carefully stalked closer to Emma. She sighed, reaching out a hand to tousle his fur. Taking it as an invitation, he let out a bark of approval before nuzzling her neck with his cold, wet nose. "Oh, shut it. _You _should have been watching her closer. If only two people in this world can see you, you might want to keep them _out _of trouble. At the very least, out of Neal's garage." His tongue trailed eagerly from her neck to her ear, slobbering his way back into her good graces. Emma shoved him away, entirely grossed out by his affections.

Coda turned towards her mother, hands in the air as the wind died down long enough for a few distinct curses from Neal to reach her ears. Coda stared. "Dee like draw?"

Emma sighed, glaring at Neal's filthy mouth. A grin broke across her face. "Yes. Daddy _loved_ it. In fact, you should do more. Starting with Daddy's office."

Coda clapped her hands gleefully, stumbling over to her mother and falling into her lap.

No.

Emma Swan could _not _lose _this._

* * *

The soft, sharp clicking of nails echoed throughout the house. First in the empty foyer. Then the empty family room. The empty kitchen. And so on. The clicking had rapidly taken off then would slow to a halt. Moments passed before it tapped its way to another desolate room. And another. Until it ticked up the stairs. The beat, a crescendo, sped up to the rhythm of Emma's heart until it paused with the sound, just outside the room he finally found her in.

She was sitting on the floor, back leaning against a wooden chair. Her knees were bent to her chest, and her arms hung limply at her sides. She faced a wall plastered with stick figure drawings and blue—the color blue was everywhere. In the paint. The border. The curtains. The comforter. The safety bars of the tiny bed.

But she saw none of it.

Outside, the sky rained stars, and the clouds became a milky red. Sunset. So disgustingly fitting, Emma thought to herself.

She heard him before she saw him. A low, questioning whine.

She did not move, even when the soft pad of his forepaw met her upturned palm. Even when he pressed his weight into it. Even when he threateningly flashed his pointed fangs at her, desperate to snap her out of catatonia.

When he received no response, the wolf flicked his ears at her, swiveling around as if searching for something, some explanation. He traipsed around to her front, straddling her legs with his. He let loose another whine, this time chopped with sighs and snorts. Like he was trying to speak. Emma, head bowed, tried to shut him out.

God, how she had tried to shut them all out.

The wolf, his hackles bristling by her rejection, emitted a low guttural growl, using his muzzle to force her chin up. Her hair slid back, away from her face and out of her bloodshot eyes. The wolf's steely eyes bent in concern. Licking his lips, he leaned forward, affectionately rubbing his furry cheek against hers. His course hair along her jawline sent some tingle of life up her spine, like a jolt of electricity. This time, when he pulled away, Emma's red-rimmed gaze met his. When he yelped softly, she had no doubt it was for the shadows that had pooled beneath her eyes.

"I don't know," she offered lamely, softly.

He shook his head violently, tossing his muzzle to and fro before narrowing his brows. Carefully, he leaned forward, dipping his nose down until their foreheads met. Bright, blue globes searched hers before stamping a paw impatiently. Emma blinked. The burning sensation pressing at her eyes, with the wolf's lone anxious gesture of concern, suddenly broke like a dam. A torrent of tears slipped past the gates of her lids and spilled down onto her cheeks. She felt like a child, with her lip quivering uncontrollably. The wolf took one paw, swiping it delicately at her chest in an effort to keep it pressed there. Emma lost her reserve.

She bent forward, collapsing against the wolf as her fingers sought comfort, solace, in his warm, inviting fur. Her nails wove through his mane, clutching at lumps and pulling him against her. He gave in willingly, practically falling against her as he tried to remain upright. Remain her strength.

She sobbed openly into him, against his withers and neck. The sounds coming from her mouth grated even her own ears, so haunting and mournful. Her vulnerable cries wailed throughout the empty house. Emma could _feel_ her heart snapping beneath the weight of everything. The shadows closed in, and the falling stars from outside danced reflectively on the floor at her feet. She breathed the wolf in, deeply. He smelled so much like _her, _like the ocean, forest, and a child's first snow. A _child._ So undeserving of—

His soft keening rang in her ears, pulling her from the spiraling depths she nearly plunged into. Emma felt herself fall gently against the rug, pressed smug against the warmth of the wolf. He stretched forward, easing his chin onto her neck and temple, allowing the weight of his head to hold her down like gravity. She shuddered. "Thank you."

The wolf's sigh turned into a groan, rumbling against her back.

She let out a long, choked breath, swallowing back the bile in her throat. "Where—where did you _come_ from?" Without warning, the wolf suddenly pulled away and trotted off. Emma turned her face towards the floor, the emptiness of the room washing over her. She fisted the rug, desperate to hold onto something.

No sooner had he left than he reappeared, trotting towards Emma eagerly with a small box in his mouth, the handle gripped gingerly between his pointed teeth. Emma forced herself to sit up, plucking the container from his mouth and opening it up. Neal's tackle box. Cluttered with bait. Tucked at the bottom sat Coda's Minnie Mouse bobber. Emma bit her lip, halting its abrupt quivering. The wolf, ignoring her emotions, bent down and used his paw to unceremoniously dump the contents of the tackle box across the floor. Emma flinched at the sound, wondering if her insanity was becoming contagious. She watched as he used his paw to scoop a small pile of bait lures towards Emma. He looked up at her expectantly. Emma merely frowned, reaching forward and beginning to put things back into the box. He barked at her, flattening his ears before swiping his paw across the pile of hooks again, delicately sliding them towards her.

Suddenly angry, Emma smacked his paw away. "You moron, you could hurt yourself. I can't let—let anything—happen—" her voice broke, words bitter on her tongue. "Where _were_ you?! You were supposed to watch her! She—" but she cut herself off again, frightfully unsure of _everything_. Memory escaped her, facts evaded her mind's fingertips—even _she_ found herself not knowing. What had happened. Where _she_ had gone. And it was the _not knowing_ that broke her the most.

She ran a shaky hand through her hair, blowing out a long breath. "So. Killy, huh?"

The wolf cocked his head, a high-pitched hum rattling in his chest. _Mmhmmm. _He blinked his bright blue eyes expectantly. His giant head dipped low and up, bobbing as he looked Emma up and down. Appreciatively. Emma frowned. Since when did dogs…?

_No. Not happening. _

Emma looked around at the vacant, cheerless room. "Killy," she breathed, testing the name on her tongue. "Killy. You are _forbidden_ to leave now. Understood? No leaving. _No._ Stay." His mouth gaped open in a yawn before remaining slack-jawed, ears twitching and tongue lolling as he panted contently.

"Good boy."

He trotted around her, circling before head-butting her upper arm lovingly.

_That's a good girl._

_Good girl._

_Good girl._

* * *

She was at the window again. Arms folded, legs crossed as she balanced on tip-toes, staring up at the breaking sky. The ocean was aflame with stars, and the blackness of night was bleeding into blue in threatening streaks of depression. Emma hugged herself tighter, letting out a shaky breath. She watched as crystals fanned out across the glass, cracking before evaporating into the air. It was so _cold_ here. So lifeless. It seemed as if she was using every ounce of energy just to remain upright against the windowpane. Her heart, faded and sore, became an afterthought. Her wrist burned every day, every minute of every hour. And her chest—it felt as if the bones were cracking beneath the weight of reality. Muscles drained. She was a shadow of a skeleton, there against that window.

That was how she imagined herself through the eyes of the intruder quietly (though not quietly enough) approaching her. The soft click of boots _(nails),_ the quiet rustling of leather _(fur)_, and the sound of timpani drum delicately matching the beat of her _(his)_ heart. Emma pressed herself firmly against the crisp glass at the soft swaying of a coat_ (tail)_. Her heart—oh her _heart_—what little was left of it, fluttered like a bird against a cage, trapped in the intoxicating presence of the stranger. It fought for release. She felt herself blushing without looking, heat coloring her cheeks visibly as an uncomfortable pool of need settled beneath her stomach.

She waited, breath bated, as the force of warmth crept around her, encasing her in what felt like solidified protection. Passion. _Desire._

Emma's knees went week when a warm hand ever so gently settled on the curve of her left hip. Neal had always been shyly hesitant when it came to carnal cravings. But this—_this_—was confidence at its finest, a whisper of what was to come. This was not Neal. Neal had not touched her in months. This was _not _Neal. This was _no one_ she had ever encountered before. And yet, as those fingers dug into her bone, maneuvering her quivering legs back and against a firm, bare chest, Emma _thirsted_ to know him better—whoever he was—in the _worst_ and most _delicious_ ways possible. It was wrong. It was right. She didn't give a fuck anymore. She had suffered, lost something, and she'd be damned if she would lose this—whoever this was—too. She could _not_ lose _this. _

This touch.

This _man._

This driven connection she had never felt with another human being before.

This need to feel, breathe, _live_ him.

With practiced precision, a hot thumb brushed up beneath the hem of her shirt, hand still resting quietly on her hip. His thumb stroked softly. Up. Down. Up. Down. Circular patterns cresting up before dipping down just beneath the band of her jeans. He was driving her _crazy_. Emma had half a mind to twist around and shove him back, take him right there against the wall.

All because of his damn thumb.

God.

She felt like a horny teenager all over again.

Hot breath blew against her neck, sending delightful shivers up and down her spine, making her want to curve into herself, curve back against him, and feel every inch press into her. She felt him chuckle against her back, his bare chest blazing hot against her. Good God. He wasn't even wearing a _shirt._

Emma tilted her head back to rest against the arch of his shoulder. She feared turning around, sneaking any sort of glance for fear the illusion would be shattered. If it _wasn't_ Neal… And even worse, if it _was…_

His right arm wrapped tightly around her waist, curving up to settle above her left breast, where her heart thundered to meet his palm. The moment his fingers curiously brushed aside her shirt collar and came into contact with skin, her body ignited. It felt as if her heart had finally exploded, shooting molten fire through her branching veins across her body. Head to toe, she was _drenched_ in this man. He leaned forward, the stubble of his jawline brushing against her cheek. And she swore she could feel him grin wolfishly against her, holding her like prey to a predator. She wanted to know what it looked like for him to smile. It had been so long since she'd made _anyone_ smile…

Emma, sucking in a quick breath, tried to twist in his embrace. He held her fast like marble, completely immobile against his blazing chest and torso. A soft _tsk tsk _of admonishment fluttered against her ear like butterfly wings. In a fit of stubbornness, despite the obvious _no, stay, _flickering in her head, she snapped her head to the left and back.

Amidst the shadows covering the face, she found herself staring into the most piercing, steel-blue eyes. Flimsy curtains of jet-black hair hung down against those icy blue eyes.

Emma stopped breathing.

Her heart caught in her throat, chest constricting painfully. She slumped against the nameless figure as hour after hour of the past months—forgotten months that could _not _have happened—flashed before her weary mind's imagination. _Coda's sick, honey. She's sick sick sick sick sick… _

_Mmmmia? _

—_better place, Coda-girl. _

_Dakota Cassidy, you clean up this patio right—_

—_now, she's gone now, honey, gone, now, gone…_

Forgiving feathers sifted gently through her hair, soothing her drifting heart and bringing her back to Wherever She Was.

A soft rumbling broke out against her warm ears. It took Emma a moment to realize whoever was holding her had smoothly brought her around, tucking her head beneath his chin and bracing her cheek against his heated chest. And he was humming some tune she may have heard once upon a time, massaging her scalp with his fingertips. Holding her against him as if his life depended on it. As if, without him, she would have collapsed to the floor. And maybe she would have.

"It's going to be alright, I promise, Emma. I _promise_. _I was hoping it would be you._" Emma shivered violently, pressing herself tighter against the man who had rescued her. Saved her. From Whatever It Was Out There, hovering in the midst of her memories. Suppressing her, keeping her from being. But there this man was, swaying her quietly from side to side, humming a forgotten melody as she held onto him for dear life. Her right arm wrapped around the back of his shoulder blade. The left was held up by his hand, where she felt the coldness of silver creeping through her palm, as if—

"You're not getting away from me that easily, love."

"Who—who _are _you?"

Heated lips pressed against her temple. Desperate. Forceful. Furious. "Open your eyes, Emma. _Open your eyes. We need to—"_

The bed dipped down, jostling her into her reality. Emma twisted around, rolling halfway over to find Neal climbing stiffly into bed. Settling in as far away from her as possible. The staleness of alcohol on his breath eventually infiltrated her nostrils. Before she could settle back into her dreams again, he was gone.

Because of him, she lost _this._

* * *

Emma sighed, fingers steepled beneath her chin as she stared down the figure opposing her. A loud, airy huff mirrored her own exasperation, followed by a soft growl of warning. Emma, in turn, bowed her head, folding her fingers as if in prayer and squeezing tightly until her knuckles turned white. "I'm _begging_ you," she whispered.

A guttural groan rumbled through her ears. She winced as he shifted his weight, readjusting himself across her lap in the cozy human-sized recliner. Nowhere near fit for the magnitude of a wolf. Emma cracked her eyes open. His hind legs were draped casually over the arm of the chair, hanging off while the rest of him lay sprawled across her thighs. His huge head swiveled back to gaze up at her longingly. Emma frowned.

"I'm sure you enjoy a woman groveling before you, but I _have_ to—"

His ears flattened sharply, eyes shifting from blue to black. Emma collapsed back against the recliner's back, wiping a tired hand down her face. The wolf—Killy, as Coda had declared him to be—had been keeping tabs on her for over the past several days, never letting Emma out of his sight. Where she went, he went. There was, no longer, any such thing as closed doors, locks, separate beds, or Emma's quality Me Time. Every closed door was met with violent growling, the snapping of canines, and finally the twist of the knob as his giant paws found a way to open the damn door. Every lock was met with sheer, brute force, as he braced the magnitude of his weight against the frame, standing up at full height and pressing until the hinges cave way and the feeble wood collapsed beneath his mass, happily panting and trotting forward towards a furious Emma with a pile of timber settling behind in his wake. Every night, he wormed his way between her and Neal on their Queen-sized bed—Neal miraculously never noticing a thing as the wolf unceremoniously nudged at him before collapsing at Emma's back, casually draping a forepaw over her neck and face. And each quiet moment Emma had to herself was quickly interrupted by the demanding need Killy had for her to pet him—and her inability to say no 94.3% of the time. Coda had loved him. And so _she_ had come to love him.

Emma blinked, bringing herself back to the present at the giggling screams of Henry. He and Neal were outside, playing on the beach as they did every day. Clenching her teeth, Emma slid her hands beneath the wolf's torso, lifting with all her might. He glared up at her, muzzle rippling in the makings of a snarl as he settled his full weight down on her lap.

"God, get _off_ me," she groaned.

Suddenly, the phone rang.

Startled at the sound, the wolf leapt off Emma, circling at her feet curiously.

Emma stifled a giggle.

The call was coming from _inside _the wolf. She snorted. "Serves you right for not learning to _chew._" The ringing ceased before picking up again, this time on the cord phone. The giant canine grumbled, stalking towards the blaring home line. He kept his head low as Emma approached. She reached over him, snatching the handle off the counter. The wolf's eyes sped rapidly between the phone and Emma's eyes, as if to ensure it was most definitely _not _the pound calling.

"Hello?"

Silence.

Emma frowned. "Hello?"

A soft intake of breath. Then, "_Emma._"

Her heart stilled. "Yes?"

The voice repeated her name again, this time in sing-song. _"Em-ma, come out, come out to play, Em-ma." _

She bit her lip, glancing down to find the wolf gone. He must have trotted off without her notice. "Who are you? Who is this?"

"_Emmmmaaaaaaa. I've come across something that used to belong to you. Are you missing it?_"

A searing pain shot through her chest and she nearly dropped the phone. "Look, I don't know who you are, or what you're talking about, but leave me—"

"_I'm just ever so anxious_ _to return it to you, as I'm sure you're just _dying_ to have it back."_

She swallowed thickly. Her eyes narrowed, replaying the voice in her head. British. She didn't _know _anyone British. Without warning, a loud crackling exploded from the receiver, perfectly in tandem with the burning sensation suddenly residing in her wrist. Then— "_Emma? Emma!"_

She blinked. She knew that voice. She _knew_ it. Her lip began to quiver.

"_There's a good girl, c'mon lass, just crack your eyes open, you need to—"_

"H-hello?" she asked quietly. The voice—so eerily familiar—had taken on a new edge of desperation, a shocking contrast to its earlier tone of threat.

"_Emma, please, listen to me carefully, you're not—"_

Hot tears suddenly pressed at the back of her eyes. "Look, you have to stop. I don't know—"

"—_ake, please, love, up! Don't you dare fucking listen to it, it isn't—"_

The rustling ceased, replaced by a soft, dark chuckle. It sent shivers up her spine. His threatening, blackened tone slid across her ears like a sensual caress.

"_I'm coming for you, Swan." _

"I—I'm sorry—"

"_You're sorry? You're sorry?! Oh, not yet, love. Not yet._"

The phone call ended with a sharp _click!_

She looked around, shakily setting the phone back onto the countertop. The wolf was nowhere to be seen, and in an effort to wash away whatever the _fuck _was going on, she headed upstairs for a long, overdue shower. Within minutes, the small bathroom became cloaked in hot steam. Emma shed her clothes, sending up a silent prayer of thanks for the suddenly absent wolf. Her lip twitched in thought. It wasn't like him to just be _gone._ She cracked open the door.

"Okay, I'm taking a shower now!" she shouted out into the bedroom, yelling loud enough for her voice to carry. She waited, breath held, for the telltale sound of clicking nails, or a loud yelping bark of disapproval. But none came. "I'm locking the door! Taking a nice long shower! Alone!" Still nothing, and Emma half wondered if she really _was_ going crazy. Almost trying to egg on an imaginary wolf. She shuddered and finally shut the door, closing out the chilly air and draping her towel over the rack. With one last sigh, she stepped into the shower, sliding the curtain closed and allowing the heated water to work on her tense shoulders. Just as she began to loosen up and melt under the shower's soothing massage, she heard it.

At first, a high keening noise. Emma instantly feared for the door, thinking it was the wolf having returned and discovered a locked door. When no explosion of wood occurred, however, Emma's heart began to race madly, sliding up her throat and depriving her of oxygen.

The sound, she realized, was nothing like the cry of a wolf.

Any icy chill swept up her bare spine.

It was the sound of metal on glass.

Emma glanced up at the curtain rod in some attempt to see a shadow or anything overhead—some indication of _what _was in the bathroom with her. Her eye, instead, caught hold of the hooks holding the shower curtain in place. Something about the shape… Coda's spray-paint imaginings rammed into Emma's mind with full force. She had painted hooks all over the pavement. Those haunting curvatures, paired with steel blue—it wasn't the ocean. It was an iris. Belonging to a man she—

_No. _Emma gasped, bracing herself against the shower stall as memory after memory flooded her soul. _No fucking way. This is _mine. _Not _his._ I cannot—cannot lose _this._ How—how did he find…_ In a fit of violent understanding, Emma snatched the towel from its rack, switched off the water, and threw back the curtain.

A long, crimson scratch stretched across the mirror. Fragments of glass were missing from the reflective pattern. A lightning crack of rage. Emma's eyes, wide with horror, followed the trail to the man leaning casually against the bathroom window, legs crossed at the ankles, one arm wrapped around his waist, and the other surveying his reddened hook.

He flashed a wolfish, predatory grin, his eyes blackened with what Emma would later describe as blood-thirst. The heat of his gaze raked over her barely-covered form appreciatively, eyebrows shooting up as his grin widened dangerously.

Finally, Captain Hook, the man of her nightmares and dreams combined into one, spoke, his words dripping with menace. "Well, what do we have here?"

He pushed himself off the wall and stalked towards her, a vicious gleam in his eye.

"You have made me out as a scoundrel from the moment we first met. You want a villain, love? You'll get one."

**x**

**x**

**x**

* * *

**A half-naked Emma and mysteriously enraged, murderous Hook…this cannot end well, can it? Where's a wolf when you need one? **

**Comments/reviews would be **_**most**_** appreciated, especially after cranking out this beast of a chapter. If you enjoyed, let me know! Considered splitting it into two, but it really didn't flow as well. A delicious, spine-tingling scene is promised should you leave your love! Thanks, as always, for reading, following, and reviewing! You guys are amazinggg. **


	13. Chapter 12

**Whoaaaa-ho-ho there… So this thing called Life majorly got in the way of my writing swing, and I sincerely apologize for not updating sooner (thought I could never be sorry for having a life!). Not to mention, I started this chapter two weeks ago, scratched it, and rewrote it. Thank you SO MUCH to those of you reading/reviewing/favoriting/following this story. Truly amazed by your support. Thanks for hanging in there folks—I know this is one crazy ride in my imagination, and it doesn't make sense 100% of the time but there's typically a rhyme or reason for it, I promise. **

**Since confusion is high with these chapters (which I apologize for, but it is intentional since it's from Emma's POV), I'm going to give a brief explanation, hopefully, without revealing too much. Prior to her being unconscious, Emma was attacked by the Dargnell. So, what on earth could possibly benefit from her staying unconscious? You guess. Initially, she was willingly trapped in a perfect dreamscape, with a family and an extra subconscious child. After Hook's attempts to break through her mental barrier to wake her up, however, his tampering planted seeds of doubt. Usually, when you realize you're dreaming, it's easiest to wake up. So, to keep her unconscious, a dream is about to drastically transform into a nightmare. Regardless of the subject matter, REM is what's going to keep her in deepest and longest for _'s benefit. I hope this helps!**

**Huge hugs and hooks to PeaceHeather, Kou Shun'u, Featherstrike, Maiqu, mali86, AngelBaby214, Lisa1972, scifigrl10, Autumn, amycc7, CookiewMonstuurr, Scarlet, ChamberlinofMusic, lyricsinmotion, and if we let go, anon, faithonhold, Revenessa, Psychadelia Child, Maddie 172, OliviaBe, captainswanproblems, Guest, lilylulurose, alainwonderland, Auream Lucem, BitMundane, and Elena Masen! **

* * *

Chapter 12

**x**

"_**(Wake me up)**_

_**Wake me up inside**_

_**(I can't wake up)**_

_**Wake me up inside**_

_**(Save me)**_

_**Call my name and save me from the dark**_

_**(Wake me up)**_

_**Bid my blood to run**_

_**(I can't wake up)**_

_**Before I come undone**_

_**(Save me)…"**_

**x**

**x**

**x**

Emma stared at Hook from across the bathroom, quick to replace her fear with a mask of cold, hard indifference. The memories that had flooded her brain in a torrent of overwhelming images had finally ceased, like a cinema reel slowly rolling to a halt in her head. From the beanstalk to the Dargnell, she remembered everything. And everything, from what her mind had reminded her to his threat of being her villain, screamed at her to run. Bolt. Dash out of the house screaming for Henry. For Neal. For _anyone_ within hearing distance that might have a gun on hand. Her heels, though rooted stubbornly into the ceramic tile, slowly drowned in a puddle of water. Damp hair clung to her face in darkened rivulets cascading over bare shoulders and chest. The towel—thank _God_ for the towel—barely covered from the top of her breasts to her upper thighs. But, she admitted, it was better than _nothing._ She could only imagine the swift change in his cool demeanor should the towel drop an inch or two—or vanish altogether. Idly, some small part of her wondered if it would buy her enough time for escape.

_Emma Swan! _her conscience admonished.

_What?! I'm not above flashing the damn pirate to get the hell away from him. _

_Class, woman,_ her mind reminded her, _you have class. Maintain it. Please. _

She became acutely aware that, despite her firm grip on the towel, Hook's gaze had increased in intensity, burning like coals as it caressed her skin, appraising what skin the towel could not cover. His stare finally settled on her chest, lips twisting into that fucking smirk of his. Emma could not restrain the blush that instantly colored her cheeks—instead, she crushed the towel tighter, clenched her teeth, and snapped.

"Ever heard of knocking?"

He slowly dragged his gaze back up to her face, brows arching in mockery as his mouth, previously quirked, now settled into a thin, hard line. He glared at her.

"Of course not. That would be too great an expectation coming from _you_," she huffed, sweeping back the curtain fully and stepping out onto the rug. She kept her eyes on him, the seconds ticking by. It became a glare-off that would have easily rivaled Regina's well-known scowls. When more minutes passed without so much as a blink from Hook, who continued to lean casually against the opposite wall near the window, Emma finally folded.

"Why are you here?"

Silence.

"What are you doing here?" she tried again.

Still nothing.

"I hate you," she grumbled, choosing instead to run a fidgety hand through her wet hair for distraction's sake.

Not even a smirk.

"Look, you can't be here. I don't really know _how_ you got here, but this is _my_ home, and Neal isn't exactly going to throw a party when he finds you here with me half-naked. Got it? So get out." She paused, eyes wavering. "_Please._"

His lack of witty retort—or response at all—frightened her more than she was willing to admit. _You want a villain, love? You'll get one._ Jackass, she hadn't wanted _anything_, especially from _him, _unless it was his dignity, arrogance, and manhood all wrapped with a shiny bow on a silver platter. Emma swallowed. She found it unnerving how intoxicating his presence was. Like a thick cloud of smoke swarming every logical thought and preventing her from doing everything her body was _dying_ to do: escape. Vanish and reappear at the other end of the world. Or drop him down a black hole. You know, whichever opportunity presented itself first.

She forced herself to focus on his unwavering form. He watched her carefully, like a predator biding its time. Without a thought, Emma bolted for the door, wrapping her free hand around the knob and jerking it back. In an instant, however, it slammed shut, nearly closing in on her fingers in the process. She whirled around, expecting to find Hook braced against the frame. He had not moved, save for his raised hand. Clenching her jaw, Emma moved to open the door again, and again, with a simple gesture of his hand, the opening crashed shut, wood rattling wearily against the hinges.

Emma twisted around, bracing her back against the door. She tried to ignore the nausea fluttering in her stomach, narrowing her eyes. "You don't have magic. How did you—?"

"You're just going to leave me here?" His voice was soft, but frighteningly so. There was an undercurrent of menace residing in his tone, a warning. A threat. His crystal blue eyes had dilated, giving the false impression his irises had turned black.

Emma had the distinct feeling she should shake her head, placate Hook and just go along with everything. But her stubborn streak had not fully run its course. Furious, she turned to face him head-on, taking a few charging steps at him before stamping her foot against the tiled floor like a tantrum child. "Goddamn right I'm just going to leave you here. You have no business being in my fucking bathroom while I'm taking a fucking shower, fucking naked. So get the fuck out, you sick fuck!" Right, so stubbornness had mutated into vulgarity. _But when the heat of the moment calls…_

"Ooohh, you're a tough lass," he mocked, voice dropping a few octaves as it adopted a harsh edge. She swore his leveled glare burned right through her soul. "Next time, don't stand on ceremony."

A swift chill made its way up her spine, igniting her scalp with unpleasant tingles. Those words. Those _words._ Emma frowned, thinking back to the beanstalk. "Original, aren't you?" Her fingers clamped down harder over her towel, locking her knees as she braced herself against his demanding presence. Her stomach plummeted as he matched her show of bravery, pushing himself off the wall and slowly stalking towards her—a predator slinking toward its prey for the kill.

"Quite perceptive, aren't you?" he shot back, his voice no longer holding the accusation that had once laced those words. Instead, it was saturated with menace, practically dripping from his lips like venom.

Two heavy steps brought him closer than she wanted, but Emma refused to back down. To do so would shatter all illusion of control, a power that she felt was slowly fraying at the seams and would break should she give even the slightest tug. Still—wearing nothing but a barely-decent towel hardly dissolved the intense vulnerability she was experiencing. Afraid he would see how _not okay_ she was with this situation, Emma threw up another wall, placating her face into a much cooler mask than indifference. "What do you want?"

He shook his head slowly. "Very bad form." But his words spoke volumes: _Try again, sweetheart. _

Emma opened her mouth before clamping it shut. The sudden smell of ocean, wood, and snow was intoxicating, overpowering her thoughts and twisting them into a sullen submission. She allowed her eyes to slip closed, if only for a moment. But when she did, she felt a pull on her body. She saw, clear as day, Neal and Henry on the beach, several feet away. They were building sandcastles. Henry, seeing that Neal was quickly expanding his castle's estate to overshadow his own, took a bucket of water and poured it across the expansive property. Snickering, he was no match for Neal as his father reached out and snagged him around the waist, quick to playfully shove the boy into the ruined mansion. Henry shielded his face from the sudden burial of sand his father was performing, screaming for Emma from behind his plastered grin. _"Mom! Mom help me! You can't let him kill your firstborn!" _Neal slapped a palm over Henry's mouth, glancing up to smile at Emma. _"We can make more, right, Ems?" _

The feeling of sharp, cold steel brought her back to Hook, whom she found to be much closer than moments before. "Stay with me, Emma. No wandering allowed." The wetness of the metal jerked her attention back to the jagged, crimson crack he had made in the mirror. Emma swiveled her eyes towards him, a wave of both fear and anger bubbling within her chest. She gave him a firm shove away, locking both fists in his leather jacket and slamming him against the door.

"What did you do to them?" she all but growled.

He chose to ignore her, and in a swift move, knocked her hands aside, rotating swiftly to exchange positions. Emma's skull collided sharply with the wall, leaving a painful ringing in her head. She saw stars for a moment before her vision cleared. Hook leaned over her, hook trapping both arms up to the wall while his free hand rested against her towel-covered hip, pressing in against her. He sneered, baring his teeth as she squirmed in his hold. The towel was slipping—much to her chagrin and, most likely, his delight.

Emma felt her mouth run dry. "Why—why are you _here_?"

"Why am I here?" he parroted, coking his head to the side as he dragged his hook along the wallpaper, taking her wrists with it at an uncomfortable angle that forced Emma to push up on her toes. "I believe the more essential inquiry would be why are _you_?"

She narrowed her gaze. "This is _my_ home." Without warning, she brought her knee up hard between them, finding her target in one swift move as he instantly doubled over, effectively releasing her. Emma's hands flew to the towel before it could fall any further, tightening and tucking its end before marching straight over, fisting his hair in her hand and grabbing what she thought was her razor off the countertop. "So, _kindly_, have the decency to get the fuck out."

"Or you'll what?" he drawled lazily, offering her a sheepish grin. "_Brush _me to death?"

Emma glanced down to find Neal's comb in her fingers. "No, but I can only _begin_ to imagine what a receding hairline would do for your ego." She dropped the comb on the floor, readjusting her hold so he was bent backwards, neck in a chokehold. "Not to mention the lack of women lining up at your bedroom door. Bald and one hand. Turns me on just thinking about it."

He glanced up at her, but before he could open his mouth, she kneed him in the back, causing the air to rush out of his lips in a _whoosh!_ "Darling," he wheezed, "you have _yet_ to experience what this one hand is capable of." Before she could see what he had done, it was too late. No sooner had the last word left his mouth than his hook had torn away her choking arm. He swiveled around and, using his good hand, obtained a firm grip on her towel and gave a strong tug.

The towel gave way, pooling at her feet.

Emma promptly crushed herself to Hook's chest in a half-tackle, half-desperate-hug, knocking them both down in the process. The harder she pressed against him, the less skin he could see. Yet it did _nothing_ for—

"I always loved full moons, lass," he chuckled, reaching his good hand downward. Emma swatted him away, tucking his hand against hers as she held it to the tiled floor.

"_No_ looking, _no_ touching," she ground out through clenched teeth. Emma slowly let her head bow down, her forehead meeting his chest hesitantly. She was trying hard not to think about how warm he felt against her bare skin, how firm and muscular his chest stretched against hers. "What do you want, anyway?" she mumbled against his shirt. She gingerly shook her head, shutting her eyes in disgust. "Nevermind. Don't answer that loaded question. Don't want to go there."

"It's hardly the only thing here _loaded_, Emma," he whispered huskily, shifting his hips to prove a point Emma did _not_ want him to make.

She groaned, pivoting her own hips awkwardly away towards his outer waist. "Shut up. You're here for a reason. So, if you hand me my towel, we can carry on and surely reach some sort of compromise."

"Or we can stay here, and _all_ of my demands can be met."

Emma's head shot up, pinning him down with an award-winning Glare of Death. His brows shot up innocently, quick to back down.

"Fine, yes, whatever you wish, your majesty," he huffed. Rather than use his hook, however, as Emma had internally desired but never vocalized, he used his good hand to reach around her and grip the towel's edge. As he drew it back over her, he allowed his fingers to slide past her derrière in what Emma could only cringe and describe as a caress. Before he could blink, she had the towel firmly tucked around her again and she was on her feet, putting as much distance between them as possible. Hook quietly picked himself off the floor, dusting at his arms as if he had just been covered in a pile of dirt, and not a naked woman. Emma tried not to let the gesture offend her, so she instead folded her arms across her chest and reassessed Hook's disheveled figure.

Her heart could not help but tighten again at the sight of his stained hook.

"Are they okay?" she asked softly, quietly furious at his distractions.

His face hardened, eyes sharpening behind a mask of crisp nonchalance. "_That_ is entirely up to you, Swan."

_Back to business,_ Emma mentally sighed. She felt herself grow angry at his bipolar attitude, so different from moments before.

"So, for now, then…they are." She waited, but he gave no sign of reassurance. "Why are you here?" A question, she felt, was long overdue its proper answer.

He leveled his cold, blue eyes at her. All mirth had vanished. "I am here to collect."

"You said you have something of mine. So what more do you need to collect?"

"Your word."

"My word? About what, exactly?"

He frowned, the corners of his lips dipping down in an uncharacteristically Hook demeanor. "You will stay here."

It was Emma's turn to frown.

"You will stay here," he repeated firmly, "And nothing more will harm them."

Emma's frown deepened, his words igniting a warning bell inside her head. "Nothing _more_?"

"Your compliance, Emma, is all I desire."

She charged him, digging her heels into the cold tiles as she confronted him. "What the hell have you already done, you bastard?"

Something sparked in his eyes but quickly clouded over. Fury? Desire? Emma shook her head. It had been more sinister—Hook was _delighted_ by her fear. She swallowed back the rising bile in her throat, suddenly feeling like throwing up all over his boots. She was _not_ some _girl _to be trifled with. Goddamnit. She felt her upper lip begin quiver with indignation, suddenly terrified for Henry and Neal, but more frightened of the monster before her. All humor had melted from his stone-cold eyes. He appeared entirely too…_adult _for her liking. And it scared the hell out of her.

"_Emma, no. Do not do this. What are you doing? What are you _doing_?" _

Emma froze, her heart pounding loudly in her ears.

She felt him, pleading with her. Emma blinked, but she was sure—Hook had moved an inch. He had not said the words. And the phone certainly hadn't rung. Then who—?

She swallowed back the thick lump forming in her throat, keeping her eyes on Hook. Without blinking, without thinking, _Killian? _

She was careful to watch for any signs of change in the Hook before her, but he continued to stare at her coldly, waiting for her acquiescence. Then, "_Here, I'm right here, love. That's not—"_

"Dear me, it _does_ seem we've come across an impasse," Hook's voice broke the thought. His head cocked idly to the side, as if expecting some explanation for the look of utter confusion that had crossed her face. When he received nothing but another passive facade, Hook shrugged, decidedly traipsing down an alternate course to achieve his goal. He lifted his good hand, and with a snap of his fingers, a figure with a bag over its head appeared at his side. Hook lowered his arm onto the figure's shoulder, digging the point of his hook where Emma guessed a neck resided. With a quick tug, the burlap sack vanished, revealing the victim's face.

Emma gasped. "_Dakota!_"

Her black hair, greased and scraggly, tumbled past her shoulders. She looked at her mother with quivering lips, her bottom chin pulsing with devastation. "Mmmmia! _Mommy!_" Her trembling mouth exploded into full-blown sobs.

Emma's stomach sank. She found herself covering her mouth with her hands in shock and horror. She shook her head mechanically. "No. No, this can't—"

"Be real?" Hook finished for her, bending down on one knee so he was at eye level with Dakota. He swept the hair off her shoulder, settling his hook pointedly against the child's neck. Those icy blue eyes and jet black hair—she had run her fingertips through it, wiped tears from those pools of blue. "I assure you, this is more real than any reality _you_ have ever dreamt of."

She could feel it. The soothing pain ran from her heart to her ankles, and they gave way. Emma sank to her knees, still feebly clutching the towel. But she could not look away from—

"_That isn't _her_. There _is_ no her, lass. I need you to—"_

Emma ignored him, throwing up a wall in her mind. Phone or no, she could not afford to listen to him. She had to take back what was rightly hers. Regardless of any illogicality in the situation. Dakota was hers. Her daughter. A part of her, a part of this world, that she would die fighting for. "She's innocent," Emma pleaded, taking a step towards Hook.

"_You're_ innocent," he corrected, allowing his gaze to slowly trail back to the shaking child in his arms. Emma watched as, with a snap of his fingers, the child's thin face and square jaw melted into a rounder one. Chubby cheeks blossomed beneath a flock of freckles and long, black lashes. Black tresses gave way to golden ones, falling nearly as far as her waist. A smaller version of herself blinked back with wide greenish eyes. He tugged the child closer, beckoning her to sit on his propped knee. "And you don't want to leave here."

Emma could have sworn her heart stopped beating as she watched her kid self obediently adjust herself on Hook's knee, staring up at Emma and offering herself a big smile. Even Hook's delicate mouth gave way to a haughty grin.

Emma licked her lips, rubbing at her arms subconsciously as she felt the temperature in the room drop several degrees. "Where is _here_, exactly?" she asked lamely, suddenly unsure what the _hell_ was going on. _When the fuck did I vacate Fairytale World for Insanity Island? _

"Reality," he answered simply, moving his stained hook down the child's arm in an oddly comforting gesture. The child, as if responding to a question, promptly shook her head.

"I like it here," her Mini-Me pouted stubbornly, bottom lip puckering outward.

"See?" Hook beamed up at Emma, gently sweeping the child off his knee as he rose to full height. "Just _stay_," his voice was liquid silk. "That is my only request. Acquiesce, and there will be no conflicts."

Emma's heart raced furiously. "Where's Henry? Where's Neal?"

The dam in her wall shattered behind the force of Killian's words, clawing to escape inside her head. He sounded distraught, exhaustion barely obscuring the fear in his voice. _"They aren't here, lass. They never were. Listen to me, you stubborn wench, you have to—"_

"NO!" she screamed, clamping her hands to her temples and wincing. "This is _real_, I have a _family_!"

Hook's brows shot up before lowering in understanding, the smaller version of Emma vanishing with a wave of his hand. "So he got through after all," he mused aloud, hand coming up to idly stroke his chin. "Well that certainly changes things." In a flash, he was before her. Startled, Emma backed herself hastily into the shower, trying to put some sort of distance between them. Her entire body was shaking, confusion blocking every form of logical thought that tried to break through—every plea from Killian, every demand from her brain trying to grasp at straws. Hook followed closely, never allowing more than a foot between them. Emma's back collided beneath the shower head, the knob digging into her back.

"Get out," she snarled.

His right hand reached up to catch a damp curl, twisting it around his finger before his eyes met hers snidely. "I'd rather not, _darling._"

Emma's focus slipped past him and to the door. His brows lifted before sinking into a conspiring glare. He casually shifted his weight to both block her view of escape and expertly demonstrate _he_ had the upper hand, which was still twisted in her hair. Emma had the sudden, distinct feeling of being trapped, like an animal. And she hated it. So wildly out of control.

The corner of Hook's mouth twitched. "There's a good _lass_," he hissed, slowly leaning forward. "Just hold still, and everything..." but Emma saw it before he could strike—his hook poised behind him. As his arm came crashing down, she ducked just in time, his hook splintering through the shower wall behind her. He wrenched his arm back, but his hook caught. Emma grinned maliciously at him as she twisted the shower on, water exploding in his face. She ducked under his arms, bolting out of the bathroom with his enraged growl tearing after her. Grabbing one of Neal's shirts draped across their bed, she forced it over her head, deserting the towel and finding the stairs.

"Swan_._"

She twisted around to catch a glimpse of a drenched Hook standing quietly just outside her bedroom door, blackened eyes pinning her still. At the last second, his lips twisted and he flicked his wrist. The rigid structure of the stair beneath her feet flattened into a slide. She yelped, falling hard on her knee as her body hurtled down the flight of misshaped stairs. Hook was waiting for her at the bottom, hauling her to her feet and back against the wall. Again.

"I _really_ do tire of these games," he drawled, jerking her forward and slamming her back harder against the wall for emphasis. She felt her head connect, a metallic taste flooding her mouth. It was all so _real_…how could any of this be happening?

"_Let me in, Emma. Something new, remember? Just bloody do it!_" Killian raged inside her head.

She shut him out again, refocusing on Hook. "Henry?" she asked aloud, addressing the soaking pirate before her.

He smirked. "Playing outside."

"And Neal?"

His breath was hot against her face as he drew her closer, tighter against him. Hook's mouth leaned down to brush against her nose. Emma tried to pull away, but he used his good hand to firmly turn her jaw back toward him. His touch ignited an explosive trail of fire and ice—pleasure and pain. There had never been pain before, with him. "You're so certain you're married?" But it came out more as a lamented statement, laced with darkened pity and an edge of ill-constrained humor.

Confusion and rage, so subtle at first, stealthily worked its way from the rock in the pit of her stomach to her enflamed chest. The doubt, so carefully woven in such a delicate state, snapped her resolve. With burning lungs, Emma clenched her fists and unleashed a hellish shriek, entirely inhuman. Hook remained unfazed, even when the wallpaper around them began to peel in curly-q's. The mirror in the hallway cracked in intricate spider webs. It seemed as if the sky pouring through the windows had turned a dangerous yellow, the calm before the storm. The glass shattered, diamonds showering the floor as a sudden rain exploded from the very light fixtures in the foyer they hovered in.

"_C'mon, lass, look around! Goddamnit, Emma, _see_!" _Killian screamed.

It was raining.

Inside.

Emma blocked him again, refusing to question any of it. She had to beat this bastard at his own game, and take back what was hers. What she could not lose. Neither Hook nor Killian could take that away from her. Emma's fingers sparked with electricity. The pain in her wrist, so quiet at first, increased tenfold with her anger. The water pipes in the walls groaned, protesting against her wrath.

No. Emma Swan would _not_ lose _this._

Amidst the chaos, Hook pushed against her, his hips meeting hers as his lips trailed along her jawline to her ear. "That's my girl," he whispered gently. "There's my lovely."

"I'm not your fucking girl," she snapped, thrusting her palms out and watching as Hook's body was thrown across the room, colliding with the wall and sliding to the floor. He laughed, his voice taking on a new edge as he wiped a trail of blood from his mouth, pulling himself to his feet. His mouth slid open, revealing a set of pointed, yellowed teeth. Eyes, jet black, glowered with vengeance.

Emma's nose turned up in shock. "And you're not Hook."

She bit her quivering lip as her entire body broke into a quiet trembling. She had wanted this. But, she sucked in a sharp breath, none of _this_ was real. It couldn't be. Hook had no magic. He couldn't possibly control doors and turn stairs into sliding platforms. She herself was no more magical than a rock, of that she was certain. Yet she had managed to destroy her home, her world, in a frenzied fit against an imposter. And in her right mind, she would have _never_ allowed a wolf near her children. A wolf no one could see but herself and…

Heat pressed at the back of her eyelids before softly trickling down her flushed cheeks. None of it was real. The family she had wanted. _Dakota_. Emma choked on a sob. Dakota—she had no memories of a daughter beyond a ruined concrete porch and the smell of Killian.

"Are you _so_ certain?" Hook's disgusted voice broke her thoughts, words choppily hindered by the rows of canines in his mouth. The more Emma searched his face, the more she saw something else. A creature so uncannily familiar. "You make me out to be such a _villain_, Emma," he _tsked_, reaching his hand inside his coat. "But I am forced to honor such _wishes_, so long as it keeps you here."

Emma shook her head, chest heaving. "Go to hell." She was shaking. The walls around her melted, running down to blend with the gradually disappearing floor. As she looked up, the ceiling crumbling overhead, she caught a glimpse of falling stars. She shuddered, suddenly so unsure of anything. Anything but… _Killian? I—I need help. If you're listening. I can't—I don't know what's happening to me._

"Hell?" the Hook before her questioned lightly. The yellowing light from what was left of the outside sky reflected eerily off his razor-sharp fangs, each filed meticulously into row upon row of miniature swords. "We're already here," the thing—_not_ Hook, she had to remind herself—before her wheezed, a tongue flicking out to swipe across its gum line. "And there's no leaving hell, Emma Swan. You let him in. You turned your heaven into _this_," it gestured around, calmly taking a predatory step towards her. "But emotion—however high or low—is what keeps _me_ alive. Your blissful ignorance, your blind faith, your _dreams_," he admitted, his voice dropping to a low rumbling.

Emma grit her teeth, shaking her head. "I don't know," she licked her lips, "what the _hell_ your deal is. And frankly, I don't give a shit. I'm _going_ to get out of here, and I'm going to see my son again, no matter what you or anyone else on this—wherever we are—says." Her eyes narrowed to thin slits in careful consideration before turning her back on Hook, marching straight towards the back door that would lead her to the oceanfront.

"Swan. _Stop._"

Suddenly, against her mind, her body froze in place. Completely rigid, Emma found herself itching to escape her own skin. She willed her foot forward but it remained rooted against the hardwood floor.

"Come here, lovely." Her body twisted obediently towards his voice. Her eyes widened in horror as her leg made the first move, not away, but _towards_ Hook. He had re-sheathed his teeth, and his eyes had melted back to a cold blue—the Hook she knew. "There's a good lass." Her feet took her a few more steps before she stubbornly threw her arm out to grab onto the hallway's arch to halt her body's procession. "Ah ah _ah_, let it go." She did. Her nails dug sharply into the wood before splintering and cracking under her arm's weight as it fell to her side.

And that was when she saw it: the glowing, red light pulsing from between his fingertips. Her heart.

"You fuckingsonofa_bitchyousicktwisted_—"

"Shhh_hhh_," and her mouth slammed shut against her will. "Now now, wouldn't want to corrupt that beautiful mouth of yours with every sodding, colorful name in the book, would we?" He reached up to brush tray hair back from Emma's face with his hook, allowing the metal to slide down until it caught her wrist, giving her a firm tug into his chest. "You do know," he mused, leaning in to whisper into her ear, "this is _exactly_ how it will play out."

Emma reared her head back, blinking away her suddenly blurred vision. She felt weak, on the verge of unconsciousness. Hook simply knotted his fingers in her hair, angling her face towards him. "What do you mean?" she demanded in slurred tones.

"I mean what I say, and I say what I mean," he chuckled. "And I _said_ this is how it will play out. Dream come true of yours. You're his ticket to Storybrooke for his vengeance, and, magic permitting, ticket _back_ to Neverland. Your magic, by then, my dear, will most likely have run its course. By then, _I_—_he—_will have no further use of you. And," he laughed quietly, "you can guess what will happen then." He waited for her to mentally catch up with his words, digging his nails lightly across her scalp in an eerily soothing rhythm. When he felt her begin to relax against him, the creature continued. "He's going to leave you in the end. He's determined, for your double-crossing him, to see that Lost Boy look in your eyes one last time."

He was right. Hook's entire energy was driven by his need for vengeance. To kill Rumpelstiltskin. She was a pawn. And should she fail to uphold her end of the bargain, she would never find a way home. Emma could not stop the tears. She felt so _tired_ all of the sudden, and despite the fact that she _knew_ she was sleeping, that none of it was real, she wanted nothing more than to just shut her eyes. To give in.

"_NO! Fight this, Swan! For your boy. For your mother, your father, anyone. But do not let go of this. Goddamnit, your mother needs you. Needs you to get home. C'mon, lass, breathe. Let me in." _An image of Henry was cast into her mind.

The little boy with brown hair and a heart the size of Texas. Grinning cheekily at her, eyes dancing with mischief as he clutched his beloved book to his chest.

Henry.

She was doing this for Henry.

She sucked in a deep breath, forcing her eyes to open as she blinked away the vision, zeroing in on the Hook holding her. Holding her heart. He was smoothing back the hair from her face, crooning nonsense into her ear. She had buckled against him, allowing him to support the majority of her weight. She focused on his face. The eyes. Black was steadily bleeding into his blue irises. The teeth growing and gradually extending over his lips. This was not Hook. This was something much darker.

"Just stay, and you can be with your son, your husband, your daughter, forever. No worries of pirates or commodities of hearts. Just your world. Just a little longer." As its soft, luring speech progressed, Emma's cheeks flamed to a nasty shade of red and her knuckles went white. With the last words passing from his lips, lips she watched work over pointed teeth and tongue, a hot surge of heat sunk down into the pit of her stomach. A loud _smack!_ resonated in the chaos around them, and it took Emma a moment to understand the stinging in her palm. And the Hook-creature's jaw wrenched to the side. Before another command could escape his lips, with a thought her heart disappeared from his hands.

"This is _my_ dream," she snapped through clenched teeth. "And you have _no fucking power over me here._"

She threw her fist into his rotating jaw, connecting solidly with bone.

Or, at least it would have if his jawbone were still where she had aimed.

With a flash, Hook's visage had completely shattered back into black eyes and sharpened teeth. A nightmare version of the pirate, at best, snarled and dodged her second blow as his skin molted, revealing a layer of scales. It threw the brunt of its weight into her side, knocking Emma off balance. She tried to right herself but his boot kicked out and swept her completely off her feet. She landed hard on her shoulder, knocking the air from her lungs. With a final surge of energy, Emma rolled away from the monster's thundering fist, slamming into the floorboards where she had lain moments before. They gave way in a flurry of sawdust and nails, exploding around them and floating in air as if gravity ceased to exist. Emma, looking up and past the creature, concentrated on the shower of stars. The falling sky.

"Skies don't fall_,"_ she whispered to herself. The moment the final realization left her lips, the back door exploded, thunderous paws tearing up the woodwork as they lunged around the hallway corner. A comet of gray fur shot over Emma and barreled into the monster.

"Killian," Emma sighed. Feeling the house slipping away, she curled in on herself, trying desperately to block out the sounds of high-pitched screams and guttural growls, the snapping of teeth, and finally, silence.

**x**

**x**

**x**

* * *

**I'm still not entirely comfortable with this chapter, and I may come back and re-edit it at some point, but I needed to get this out. So, Emma's finally pulling herself out of dream's grip, with the help of our favorite Captain. For those of you dreamers out there, you know it's hard to leave such a delicious dream behind…and sometimes even harder to wake from a complete nightmare. Now what (or who) on **_**earth**_** could possibly benefit from her being trapped in her dream? Hmmm…**

**As always, if you read, **_**please**_** leave me a little something in that small box below. Doesn't take long to tell me what you think. Love and constructive criticism is always appreciated! **


	14. Chapter 13

**First…WE BROKE 200 REVIEWS! WOOOO! **

**Second…I am so so so so SO sorry for the delay. My only excuse: brain went on strike then lost a battle with a post-final exams coma. I hope that this will make it up to you, and I promise updates will be more frequent. A complimentary hook and a cookie shall be mailed to all of you fine people still following this story, especially to those of you who are favoriting and reviewing! **

**Special thanks to ALL of my wonderful reviewers who made me laugh, cry, and feel encouraged to strap my ass back into my writing chair: Guest, anetamissviolet, lucksdraw, SerendipityMuse, asdf (Guest), Ideal Mind, amy-x-ian-foreve, The Frozen Yogurt Goddess, NEIIEN, Kou Shun'u, Pinkqueen, lyricsinmotion, ChamberlinofMusic, mali86, Lady Eagle, PeaceHeather, BitMundane, Revenessa, Autumn, Featherstrike, OliviaBe, Lisa1972, and Maiqu. **

**PeaceHeather: You. Are. Amazing. Spot-on, my fine reader. Spot-on. **

**Disclaimer: Don't own anything. Some of the dialogue was taken from the Pilot episode and Tallahassee. Hold onto your hooks, my friends—the storm is not quite over. **

* * *

Chapter 13

**x**

"_**Have heart, my dear**_

_**We're bound to be afraid**_

_**Even if it's just for a few days**_

_**Making up for all this mess…"**_

**x**

**x**

**x**

It seemed as though time itself had stopped. It took Emma a few moments to collect herself, eyes shut tight as she concentrated on jumpstarting her frozen heart and breathing like a normal human being. Her nostrils flared. With a pounding head, she tried to lift her arm to massage her temples, but Emma found, rather startlingly, that she could not move her limbs. Her chest constricted tightly as her Fight or Flight response knee-jerked into place, sending her heartbeat into overdrive and her mind racing as it came up with a thousand and one possibilities as to _why_ she had suddenly been rendered paralyzed. Eyes still weighed down by darkness, Emma's lungs fell into a dizzying rhythm at the sound of a distant thud. Her fear spurred a second wind of energy and she found her muscles suddenly snapping into command. An arm jerked first, followed by a twist of her ankle. It gave a satisfying _pop! _before settling beneath a heavy weight.

Emma, caught beneath a pile of broken debris and glittering stardust cascading around her, let out a wheezing cough, choking on the stale, dead air around her. She swallowed back the sawdust in her mouth, tongue dry as cotton. Her eyes fluttered against the sudden onslaught of light. After a few deep, ragged breaths, her blurry vision cleared and she found herself stretching beneath the mountain of wood. Joints popped, her body screaming in pain. She could feel bruises mounting along her hip, shoulder, and even her face. The remnants of hands hot on her cheek, neck, hips—a caress of a breath—still stroked achingly along her skin. Jaw tightening, she fought her way suddenly, violently, out of her prison of timber, as if she were fighting away Hook all over again.

Only it hadn't been Hook, she reminded herself hastily. But she could not force his face, enraged and bloodthirsty, out of her quivering mind. Nor could she halt the broken record of disloyal words he had spat at her.

The world suddenly tilted, sending Emma sprawling clumsily into an iron beam that made up the foundation of her beach home. She white knuckled the support, blinking away the black-and-white film from her eyes as it went in and out with her heart's thundering cadence.

She opened her mouth, desperate to find the one thing—person—that, strangely enough, made sense to her in this God-forbidden realm. But, with her better judgment, she clamped her lips shut. What if Hook, not Killian, was still around, lurking and waiting for acknowledgment? Maybe he thought she was dead—as dead as you could be in a dreamscape.

_What are you waiting for? Call him! _

Emma shook her head silently against her conscience, eyes flitting around the destroyed hallway. Dust particles hung in the air as beams of wood collapsed in achingly slow motion. Stars drenched everything in glittery light. Emma glanced down, staring at a particular flake of shimmering dust. The jagged, intricate shape reminded her of a snowflake.

_Great. It's snowing space in my head,_ she thought begrudgingly, flicking the stardust off her finger and watching it sail towards the vibrating floor before vanishing into the woodwork.

_Could be worse. You could've been blessed with a dull imagination. _

_I feel like I'm on an acid trip,_ Emma countered dryly.

She almost felt her conscience nod consolingly. _LSD _does_ do Captain Hook horrible justice. _

Emma, ignoring her inner voice, quickly considered her options as the house gave a shudder around her. One, escape. Two, find Killian. Three, escape.

_Four, shag Killian._

Emma sputtered at her conscience's crude interjection. She glanced around pointedly at their collapsing surroundings. _In case you haven't noticed, _she argued, _the world is falling down. _

_Always time for a quickie. _

She scrunched her face up in disgust. _Let me know when you've crawled back out of the gutter and are ready to actually be of assistance._ She took a quick breath to calm her fluttering heart and sudden spike in libido due to her mind's _excellent_ imagination, namely an image of a very naked Jones and a very naked Emma pressed against the peeling wallpaper. _Not to mention, this isn't real. _

Her conscience sighed. _One can dream._

A board riddled with nails groaned and wrenched itself from the ceiling. Emma jumped out of its reach just in time as it re-wedged itself into the uprooted insulation in the wall, defying gravity. _I would prefer to get _out_ of this one, thanks_, she snapped in reference to the dream. She rubbed at her arms, making up her mind to head for the back door to put more distance between her and that damn Hook creature.

A loud bark abruptly broke her stride.

Emma paused, tossing a furtive glance over her shoulder. She bit her lip, unsure of the best course of action. A soft keening noise grated at her ears. She took a step back, prepared to return to the foyer, when the footing beneath her gave way. She threw herself back and caught a support beam. Hugging it, she watched as the hallway's floor disappeared, flooding down to a bottomless black hole that swirled, much like a portal but, Emma guessed, with no other destination in mind than certain death.

Another sharp bark cleared all logicality. It was high-pitched, as if in concern. Or pain.

Emma frowned and pulled herself up to full height. This was _her_ fucking dream, Goddamnit, and she was sick and tired of running from it. Clenching one fist, she lifted her right hand and twisted her wrist, concentrating on the gaping hole before her. Imagining the room as it had been, the floor instantly reconstructed itself before her. At this new notion, however, the walls shook even harder, her world protesting its existence. Emma pushed her way forward over the boards, skidding around the corner.

But what she found was far worse than a ripped-to-shreds replica of Hook, or even an injured wolf. Instead, she found herself facing a small, cleanly cut concrete room, no larger than a—

Emma's heart sank like a pile of rocks in her gut. Her eyes caught hold of the tiny, barred window in the corner.

No larger than a jail cell.

Quivering, she took one step into the room, icy chills racing up her arms as she realized she was no longer bracing her weight against crumbling plaster, but instead, her fingers were wrapped around long iron poles, icy beneath her touch. The cell door, held open in her hands, made her feel more inferior and alone than she had felt in over ten years. Her blurry gaze raked over the tiny chamber before settling on the cot lined against the longest wall. No longer cognizant of the collapsing house behind her, she approached the bed, reaching down to palm a long-forgotten memory: a small, white stick with two pink lines etched into it. She bit her lip against the onslaught of emotions, a torrent she felt snapping and breaking just behind her eyes.

Emma sucked in a shaky breath.

"_Lass?" _

She wasn't surprised at all to hear his voice in her head, intruding, of course, on one of her most private lonely memories.

"Nothing else," she choked out. Her eyes began to mist over as she stared hard at the pregnancy test clutched in her hands.

"_He's gone, Emma, for now. But I highly doubt you would survive running into the bloke again. I've done what I can from here, lass. You have to wake up. You have to—"_

"Nothing else," she repeated, voice hollow. "No letter. Sorry. But, good news," she afforded herself a wry smile, "you get a car when you get out."

He let out a shaky breath in her mind, laced with a curse not meant for her. _"Swan, I'm coming for you. Just tell me where you are and I'll come get you."_

"And," her heart wrenched, "a baby_._ Congratulations."

"_Are you off your bloody rocker?!_" his voice roared. _"Fucking _listen_ to me, you bloody damn woman! I will find you!_ _Just stay put, Christ, for one minute!_"

But Emma, unable to cope with the scene before her, pitched the test at the wall in a fit of rage and whirled back to the cell's door, throwing herself back into—

—her Boston apartment. Emma caught herself short from collapsing against the carpet. A loud rumbling noise exploded from behind her but she blindly shut the door in the face of whatever danger lay beyond. And Hook—Jones—whoever was really coming after her. The carpet felt like heaven to her bare, aching feet. She could feel the cool breeze of the air conditioning lightly ruffling her matted hair, still damp from the broken pipes in the beach house. Her eyes flitted around the simple yet comforting furnishings. Her couch. Her television. Her kitchen with the countertop. Her cupcake, with a single candle and flame flickering in the eerie silence.

Emma's mouth watered at the site of the cupcake, stomach suddenly grumbling as she realized she couldn't remember the last time she had eaten—in dream or reality. Though, she grimaced, she had a hunch fantasy cupcakes would _not_ ease her abrupt hunger pains. "Another banner year," she sighed, reliving the moment and taking time to dig her toes into the plush, clean carpet as she made her way to the cupcake. She settled down on the barstool, content to rest her chin on her hands and watch the flame dance. Distantly, she heard what sounded like a man's booming voice, fists pounding on her neighbors' doors. She closed her eyes at the tiny knock against her own door, seeing herself frown as she opened it to the memory of a child.

_Uh, can I help you?_

_Are you Emma Swan? _

She swallowed back the lump in her throat, squeezing her eyes shut tight at his round face. _Yeah. Who are you?_

_My name's Henry. I'm your son._

"EMMA, OPEN THE HELL UP!" Hook—Killian—whatever—shouted from the other side of her door. Her eyes flew open to the empty apartment, candle slowly melting wax onto the cupcake's icing in swirls of blue. In a matter of seconds, she pushed herself away from the ruined cupcake, stomach forgotten. She fisted the doorknob and wrenched it open, half expecting to find Henry peering up at her. Instead, the door opened to an alley.

Steeling herself, Emma stepped forward. The thunderous commotion behind her ceased almost instantly, another door crossed, another level uprooted in her memory, another floor for reality to chase and dig to. The door behind her shut, and as she glanced behind at it, she realized it led to an old, abandoned warehouse. She turned around, forward, and paced a few steps, suddenly looking down at her wrists, first at the leather-bound one. It had tightened painfully and was beginning to turn her arm a strange hue of purple. Angry at its intrusion, her nails clawed at the bracer before giving up. It would not come off—in reality, or in her mind.

She sighed, finding the alley empty. She leaned back, bracing herself against the wall of the parking structure as she lifted her other arm, eyes fixating on a rather expensive-looking watch.

_Tick tock. _

_Tick._

_Tock. _

As insane as it seemed, she swore she could hear Hook counting it off aloud. Emma chewed on her lip for a moment, kicking at the ground as she shoved her arm behind her back in a poor attempt to muffle the pirate's voice. Looking around, Emma began to feel sick. Who was she kidding? She had to get out of here. No more doors. They were leading her nowhere. Sucking in a quick breath, Emma decided to wait. For Jones. The real one. He would get them out of this bloody fucking mess.

Wouldn't he?

"Unless he set you up," a voice suddenly rang out. Emma jerked her head up. "Hands above your head please, miss."

She pulled herself away from the wall, moving further down the alley and away from the parking structure.

"Possession of stolen goods," the voice called out again, "Left you holding."

Emma swallowed. She took another step back, heart folding as the streetlights flickered. The one furthest away, closest to the warehouse, went out sharply. Emma twisted her head back, searching the darkness for some sort of escape but she had trapped herself. Still looking up, she responded, words laced with an entirely new meaning: "I have _nothing_." Her foot struck something and she struggled to remain upright, grappling for purchase along the brick wall. Her hand caught and skin tore. She winced, cradling her hand.

"Sorry to tell you, but your boy took off," it sneered. The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, leaving Emma to worry that Hook—the monster—really _wasn't_ gone. That it was slowly approaching her in the cover of darkness.

Emma licked her suddenly dry lips. "This can't be—"

"Give me the watch! _Now!_" it seethed. Another light went out, leaving the warehouse's walls in total darkness. Two more lights flickered uncertainly—two more lights until Emma would be left in total darkness in the alley.

Emma had to think fast. If it wanted the damn watch, if it wanted to re-fucking-peat history, she'd do it, if only to distract it and get back through the warehouse's door at the far stretch of shadows. Her fingers fumbled but finally managed to undo the latch. She hurled it towards the mouth of the alley just as another lamp went out. Emma never heard it strike, so she could only assume something had caught the expensive band.

"Good girl. Turn around." Emma twisted sideways, keeping her eyes trained on the darkness, but it must have been enough because the voice spoke again. "Where's the rest of the watches?"

_Killian. Killian, I need you_.

She felt something hot and bitter press at the back of her eyes, vision blurring faster the longer she waited. He made no response. "They're gone," she whispered with defeat. He wasn't coming to save her. "They're not coming back." She blinked back tears but a trail had already begun to stream down her cheeks. She was _stronger_ than this, damnit. She was fucking Emma Swan. She didn't need him. She didn't need anyone, could take on any dickhead that messed with her. She could handle anyt—

_Oh shit._

The final streetlamp, quaking above her head and offering a ring of protection, quivered before finally being snuffed out as if it were no more than a mere candle.

_Shit. Shit. Definite shit._

Emma held her breath, heart pounding in her ears as she waited for some telltale sign. Footsteps. Breathing. _Anything._ But only silence greeted her. She took another step back. Her shoulder met hard brick; she had come to the close of the alley. There would be no running, she realized. Whatever was coming for her, she was done for. Tightening her fists, she briefly wondered how real it all was. Death in fantasy, death in reality—were they intertwined?

A sudden scuffle drew her attention back to the present. She edged her way to the corner, steadying herself as she began to make her way toward the mouth of the alley. If she could just find another door, maybe the warehouse, she could get out. Or find herself deeper in the stupid house of horror her mind had concocted. Regardless, she could not live like this, trapped like an animal. She exhaled hotly, almost a snort as she braced herself against the thundering that was steadily making its way toward her. A soft growling snapped at her, but she put one foot forward. Then another. "_Let's go_," the voice whispered, soothing and deep like a caress to her cheek. Emma's heart clambered in her throat, as if it was fighting for escape, while her lungs refused to stretch to their maximum capacity.

Fight or flight.

Fight or flight.

Now or _never._

As the sound of metal on brick met her ears and a terrible howling broke through the darkness, Emma charged forward. Her toes pushed off lightly on the concrete beneath them, hands empty and itching for a weapon. She hoped that her silence was enough of a cover to at least surprise her attacker. She heard steps to the left, ahead, and without a second thought, Emma bowed as she ran, angling her weight towards the darkness. Hook or no Hook, she would take this thing on. She had to.

Before she knew it, she collided with something firm. It gave a few inches but seemed to halt her movements almost instantly. Strong appendages wrapped around her torso, steadying her fists which drove again and again into her target. _"Let's go_," the voice, gruff and winded, pleaded with her. Emma stilled at the voice—_his _voice. Her chest ached with some raw emotion she refused to name, let alone acknowledge. "Emma, let's _go_," he begged. His arms did not release her though, even when she reared her head back violently in the darkness. As if answering a wish, the streetlamp overhead flickered back to life.

Illuminating the face of Killian Jones.

Those steely blue eyes pierced into her very soul, it seemed, as though he could see _everything_. He searched her face, one hand rising up to cup her cheek and brush back a blonde tendril. He crouched down slightly so they stood eye-to-eye, evenly matched. Emma's gaze raked over his jawline covered in stubble, his hair wind-blown and wild. She watched as his brows furrowed, bending in confusion and worry.

"I've got you, lass. I've got you," he soothed, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss to her forehead before tugging her closer. Both arms folded around her like a cocoon. One hand still braced on her neck, the other rubbing soft circles at her back.

Emma froze, the hair at the back of her neck standing on end.

_The other. _

Two hands.

Emma shoved hard and jerked back, out of reach, to stare wide-eyed at the pirate before her. Dressed in a black, flowing shirt that met in a sensual V at his navel, he stood before her in dark pants and matching knee-high leather boots. Jewelry glistened in the lamplight, adorning not only his ear, but two hands as well, bound in bejeweled rings—rubies and emeralds cast in gold and silver. Emma shuddered at the way his hands remained outstretched, patiently reaching for her.

Two. Fucking. Hands.

She really had lost it now.

"Who are you?" she demanded irritably, stretching herself up to full height. She felt her body tense, prepared to bolt the moment she was given an answer she didn't like.

The pirate frowned, cocking his head to the side. "Jones, Killian Jones, love," he answered slowly as though speaking to a child. "You really went much further down the rabbit hole than I'd bargained for," he remarked dryly. He straightened up, mirroring her stance as he lowered his arms.

"Bullshit!" she snapped, eyeing both hands meaningfully. He followed her gesture before sighing dramatically.

"Really, lass, you'd think a damsel would pick up on a thing or two. A dream, this is a dream, Swan. Snap out of it, get your knickers untwisted, and let's take our leave of your _delightful_ head, shall we? Get back to the whole _rescuing your family_ bit."

Emma stared at him. Hard. So she was making him up. Making the whole damn thing up. He wasn't really here to save her, then. The whole time—the whole damn time she'd thought he had been right there with her, battling the pseudo-Hook and trying to bring her back.

"You aren't real," she stated bluntly, trying to confirm her thoughts.

His eyes shot upward. "I _am_, in a manner of speaking. I'm here in spirit," he flashed a grin at her. It slowly fell when Emma's face remained dangerously stoic. "Right, lass. Come off your high horse and have us a listen. You and I—_we_—"

"There's no _us_," Emma interjected coldly.

Hook narrowed his eyes. Her words clearly did nothing to soothe him, but he quickly brushed them aside, taking a harsh step into her comfort zone. "_We_ are connected, Swan. In ways you cannot begin to fathom. Our paths are crossed, and as such, I have so _boldly_ set aside my time and life for yours, so that your path may continue, _sweetheart._ Whether you like it or not. This," he gestured around them, "is, doubtfully, the future you had in mind for yourself. So, if you would be so kind as to shelve that attitude and withdraw your royal scepter from your delectable ass, _princess,_ then we could be on our merry way."

"The only thing between _us_ that will _ever_ connect, is my fist to your face, you asshole," she snapped, brushing past him and toward, where she guessed, stood the warehouse door. _You believe him, you know,_ her conscience interrupted. Emma's gate slowed. _You don't know why, but you do. _

"Oh Swan, you _know_ how skin-on-skin contact just thrills a man," he cooed from behind, quickly stalking after her.

She whirled on him. "How is it that you suddenly grew a fully working appendage, Hook?"

He flashed her a grin, glancing downward at himself. "Darling, it's always been _fully_ working, a man just needs a bit prompting at times. Though, a threat from a Swan is always enough to get things in a quick _stand_still."

"You're disgusting."

"_You're_ infuriating. And wasting our time." He stepped around her. He halted quickly when he felt Emma's fingers wrap around his left hand. His eyes trailed the length of her arm before settling on her face. She could only offer him a look of hesitation.

"How is it you're like _this_?" she asked, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

Hook sighed, squaring his shoulders and looking down at their entwined fingers. His lips gave way to the ghost of a smile. "It's bloody insane, you know, that I can feel that. Like it's really there. Not just a stump." He stared down at his hand, flexing his fingers for a moment, before turning his gaze back on Emma. He pursed his lips before tightening his grip and continuing. "Your subconscious apparently casts intruders in different roles, so to speak. According to what it—or you—can handle. At first, you could only accept the dream for reality, and so I was nothing. Then, something in your perfect relationship altered, and so that perfection of your 'reality' was lost. It became a flawed universe, more akin to the real world, creating a crack in the dream's frame and opening a mental portal. But you, being the princess that you are, remained stubborn and refused to handle the truth just yet, and so I was _graciously_ given another form."

"Killy," Emma whispered. She tore her gaze away from their hands, meeting his eyes sadly. "You were the wolf."

He nodded. "When you finally acknowledged the illogicality of this bloody world, I was able to fully intervene. If I had not—"

"It was the Dargnell. Wasn't it? Not you. The Dargnell attacked."

Hook nodded again.

Emma finally pulled her hand away, hundreds of questions bubbling in her head. The streetlights behind Hook brightened to a dull glow, illuminating the path to the warehouse. "This is your world, lass. You're the author of it. You control it. You create it."

"Then how—?" she gestured towards his left hand again.

Hook fixed her with a heated gaze. Emma swore she felt electricity simmer all the way from her heart to her toes and back again.

"I'm more than just a hook, Emma. Apparently, you've finally chosen to see the man behind it."

**x**

**x**

**x**

* * *

**Major. Feels. **

**Review?**


	15. Chapter 14

**I swear I'm alive, and I promise I have an excuse for not updating sooner! I hope this makes up for it! I promise she'll be out of her head soon. More feels to come. Enjoy the emotional rollercoaster!**

* * *

Chapter 14

**x**

"_**When you run into my arms**_

_**We steal a perfect moment**_

_**Let the monsters see you smile**_

_**Let them see you smiling.**_

_**Do I hold you too tightly? **_

_**When will the hurt kick in?"**_

**x**

**x**

**x**

Emma stared at Hook incredulously, her mouth agape. Just _what_ the hell was he _on_? How _dare_ he presume to know what she thought of him? Emma's gaze unknowingly dropped to his lips as she tried to muddle through his words. _"I'm more than just a hook, Emma. Apparently, you've finally chosen to see the man behind it." _He was nothing to her, she assured herself, just some parasitic asshole they'd managed to pick up once upon a beanstalk, and the damn thing had refused to leave her be ever since. More like a lost, pathetic puppy when she thought of it, really.

_A sexy, pathetic puppy, _her conscience chirped.

_WILL YOU STOP?! _she screeched inside her head. She must have shown outwards signs of distress. Hook narrowed his eyes, cocking his head to the side as he leaned in. His presence was entirely too overwhelming, even there, and she suddenly felt breathless.

"Emma?" he asked, lips drawing downward into a concerned frown.

_Quit PMSing and let's get back to admiring the man._

_I swear to God, I will cut you. This is my dream and I will find a fucking way, so back the hell off._

_You're cutting off the man's circulation. He needs blood flow, woman. Of course, if it were redirected to more _beneficial_ appendages, we would have no complaints up here._

Emma glanced down, realizing how tightly she was gripping his left hand in hers. Somehow, her hand had found its way back to his without her permission. She startled, immediately dropping him and mumbling an apology. Hook's frown deepened. He reached forward to grab her hand again, seemingly desperate to make her understand—but that was precisely the problem. She didn't _want_ to understand. She just wanted to get the hell out of her head, out of that realm, and back to her son, unscathed. Physically and emotionally.

Just as his fingertips grazed hers, she jerked back, stiffening her arms at her sides and tightening her hands into fists. "I think I need…" she trailed off when Hook redirected his hand to his hair, running it through and letting out a sigh of defeat. Her eyes were drawn back to his lips, full and parted. Somewhere, near the pit of her stomach, a burning heat had begun to spread. For once, the leather bracer on her arm reacted. It loosened its grip and sent pulsing warmth up her wrist. She felt uncomfortable fighting his presence, remaining stiff and aloof instead of relaxing into him. Something flashed in his eyes and it unnerved her to the core. "…a drink," she finished lamely.

"Agreed," he shot back too quickly, a mask of weary indifference slamming into place. He looked away from her, clearly uncomfortable as well, a trait she would have never tacked to Captain Hook. A chord of pity struck deep within but she quickly squandered it, instead brushing past him toward the dimly lit warehouse door.

"And just where," he drawled, "do you think _you're_ going, Swan?"

"Back."

"Back where, exactly? Because if I have to suffer through another presentation of your past's memories, I will politely bow out of this grand chase of yours," he spat, idly ghosting his hands across his arms in a dusting fashion, as if her pain had sewn particles of dust into his poet's shirt.

Emma froze, an emotion akin to raw pain igniting in her chest. She felt his fury bore into her back but she could not face him, too distracted by his words. So that was it, then? How charming, to unceremoniously toss aside every moment of darkness as if it were nothing more than an empty bottle of rum to him. Useless and empty. _You just rejected him, _her conscience reminded her.

_Well he didn't have to be such an ass. He got me into this mess._

Her conscience uttered a pointed cough. _I do believe _you_ were the one who so boldly tried to outrun the Dargnell. He told you to stay put. You ran. _

_I wouldn't be running from a Dargnell if he hadn't decided to join forces with us._

_A betrayal against Cora that saved your life, _her conscience reminded her.

Emma sighed. _But killed Aurora in the process. I can't justify my survival at the cost of another's life. _

_You can be so ignorant sometimes, _her conscience huffed before quietly vanishing.

Hook cleared his throat. "As much as I enjoy learning of all the little tapestries that knit a woman into who she is, time is running away from us. The longer you dodge reality, the further it takes to get back. And soon, you won't be able to escape this maelstrom you've created."

It wasn't so much the blatant truth that set her off, but the accusatory tone that accompanied his confession. She had no doubt she would find herself even less enthusiastic to be stuck in the damn pirate's head. But those memories—the loneliest—were the ones she wanted to find herself furthest from, buried six feet deep, out of sight, out of mind. No matter how in control Hook claimed she was, Emma would have never chosen _those _moments to relive. She clenched her fists in anger—at herself, at him—before letting them fall limp at her side. No. She wasn't letting him off that easily. In the blink of an eye, she rolled her wrist and felt the tell-tale electricity _pop!_ before hearing Hook spit a curse.

As if out of a cartoon, a miniature cloud suddenly appeared over his head before flashing and emptying its contents all over Hook. He snarled up at his personal rainstorm. "Very funny," he shouted over a clap of thunder.

With a snap of her fingers, a bolt of lightning snaked its way down into the concrete mere inches from his boot. He leapt back, his string of curses becoming even more expletive, a feat Emma did not think he could achieve. "WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU, WOMAN?!" he roared, voice cracking as he tried to get his point across a loud roll of thunder. Emma ignored him, resuming her retreat toward the warehouse door. She could hear him—or, more specifically, the Hook-sized hurricane—following in an exploding pursuit.

An arm shot out, tugging and trapping her against him. The rainstorm somehow managed to completely avoid Emma and continue to drench the back half of Hook. She attempted to shrug out of his hold but he merely tightened his arm, pressing his wet, stubbly cheek against her smooth, dry neck.

"Let. Go."

"No," he growled.

"Let. Go. _Now._" Her voice was low and shook with emotion. Instantly, the hairs on the back of Hook's neck stood on end, electricity crackling in the air. Snarling like an animal, he shoved her away from him forcefully before lightning could find a more exact target. Emma twisted, glaring at his stormy features, watching as his chest heaved from the force of his emotions—etched into a hardened jawline and furrowed brows.

In that moment, she wanted nothing more than to reach out and smooth down the worry lines, stroke them into peace and let herself melt against him.

Wait.

No.

_No. _

Gritting her teeth, Emma turned her back on Hook and took off towards the door once more.

She couldn't feel this.

_This_ was ridiculous.

_This_ could not happen.

_This _was too late.

A firm hand suddenly snagged around her waist, hauling her up and against Hook's chest. Emma swerved in his hold, striking back with her head but only met shoulder. She used her legs, flinging them out before swiveling them to drive her heels into his shin, allowing him to hold her weight. Before she knew it, she was pressed against the warehouse's wall, firmly squished between brick and a soaking wet pirate. Emma yanked her wrist out of his grasp, using the storm's slippery atmosphere to her advantage, and blindly threw out a punch. He blocked it easily, regaining purchase of her arm and forcing it painfully behind her back, between them. She wanted to scream. To thrash, snarl, bite like an animal, sink her teeth and tear until he let her go. She was so damn _frustrated _with pent-up emotion and energy, and who better to take it out on than her assailant? Emma felt a surge of rage well up in her chest, prepared to use it against him. Instead, she felt a soft rumbling in the small of her back. She had not cast another bout of thunder. The noise, rather, was coming from Hook. Her ears picked up the soft, insistent humming that stroked against her skin as Hook softly hummed nonsensical coos and words, attempting to calm her down like a small child.

"Easy, lass," he murmured, muscles tense and prepared to halt any further bouts of rebellion.

As taut as a string on a bow, she felt herself snap. She felt her weight sag against him, hardly surprised when he pulled back and easily supported them both without the aid of the wall. When her legs gave way, he swept his right arm beneath her knees, lifting her into his chest and cradling her like the little girl she had suddenly become.

She was vulnerable here, bare and emotionally naked inside her own head with her memories splayed out like a movie reel for Hook to dissect and use against her. But he had not. And, she had a feeling, he would not. Emma felt his calming reassurance wash over her in waves. She hated it, wanted to fight back, prove she could take care of herself, but she was so damn _tired _of it all. Ever since Henry had showed up, her life had been anything but easy. Apprehension had made a permanent residence in her body, but now she felt it drain from her like a broken dam. She was tired of fighting it, of fighting Hook and against him. At the very least, he was trying to help her out of her own mind. Couldn't she allow him that? He could get her out and then they could be on their merry way.

Her body tensed at the realization that she had just possibly woven the first strand of trust with Hook.

Minutes passed before Hook allowed Emma to regain her footing on the pavement, but he kept her tucked against him, as if afraid of her collapsing again. Her legs, like Jell-O, slowly straightened before locking into place. Still, Hook held her fast, both of them idly staring at the building before them, lost in thought.

"As much as I love getting wet with a woman, I would greatly appreciate," he ground out in her ear, "you calling off the monsoon, love."

A smile tugged at the corner of her lips. She had forgotten the rainstorm which still magically managed to evade her. With a thought, the downpour ceased, immediately enhancing the sound of Hook's breath hot against her ear and the dull patter of raindrops on the pavement, escaping from his clothes and hair. Without the roaring of the miniature storm to distract her, Emma found herself alarmingly aware of just how tightly pressed she was to the man behind her.

And how perfectly they fit.

Goddamnit, _NO!_ Where the _fuck_ had that come from?! Emma shut her eyes, mentally cutting off all conversation with her conscience as she focused on regaining her senses long enough to pull away. Emotions be damned, _this—them—_was _not _logical. It was a dream, for goodness sakes. Nothing was real here. Nothing more than a damn dream.

Emma blinked and she instantly found herself ten feet away from a startled Hook, whose arms still curved outwardly as though he had kidnapped an imaginary person. His arms fell to his sides, rigid and empty. Something flashed across his face but it was gone before Emma could make out whatever emotion he had been harboring.

Without another word, she resumed her retreat to the warehouse door. Hook released an audible sigh before going after her.

"I didn't mean that, what I had said," he spoke quietly, close on her heels. "But the more time we waste here, picking apart every moment of your past, the longer it takes to send your mother home and return to your son."

Emma's fingers closed around the door handle before twisting and jerking it wide. The opening mercifully revealed her apartment—at least, she _assumed_ it was her apartment. She'd had a couch against that wall, hadn't she? Hook's hand seized hers but she tore it away with a violent lurch of her shoulder, pushing through and strolling up to her kitchen's cabinets. His touch had burned, in a way she refused to acknowledge. She could not—she _had _to put space between them. Dream or no dream. Hook eyed her warily, quietly shutting the door behind before he made his way to the room's island, bracing both hands on the counter's edge. Emma stared at them for a moment, memorizing the way his left hand mirrored his right, hook-less and normal and _human. _Taking a deep breath, she turned her back on him, deciding to dig through the cabinets. A nervous habit until she could conjure up what she needed. Bravery with a dash of alcohol.

She could feel him watching her, and it unnerved her the way his heated gaze, like liquid silk, still melted her insides, a feeling she was determined to cut off from moments before outside in the rain. "I didn't ask you to save me. I was doing fine on my own." She bit her lip, standing on tip-toes before diving for the lower cabinets. She felt her memories ebbing, easing out of her reach. Which cabinet had she kept the bourbon in? She slammed another cabinet shut and continued, "I can find my own way out."

"And how, precisely, do you propose to accomplish such a feat?" His question was laced with sarcasm.

"Wake up."

"Aye. Because you're doing such a _splendid_ job of that already."

He was right. Emma had already felt her dreamscape shattering before, but it hadn't been enough to tear her away from it. Instead, she had gone deeper. She was stuck. But she refused to admit that to the cocky s.o.b.

"Do you want a drink or not?" she snapped, turning her head to the side but still not meeting his gaze. She saw, from the corner of her eyes, his stiffened shoulders droop in a sigh.

"Emma, this is a d—"

"Yes or no?" she interrupted in a clipped tone.

"Emma," he growled. She felt his presence slip closer, choking her reserve and igniting a flame within the pit of her heart. She suddenly wanted nothing more than to feel his skin on hers, arms around her. She wanted nothing more than to be _held_. Just held.

She sighed wearily. "Hook," she twisted around only to find him an inch away. She unconsciously backed up against the counter. He followed.

"Don't you think, love, that imbibing alcohol is a bit counter-productive in a dream?"

Emma raised a brow in disbelief. "It's not exactly _productive_ in reality either."

He appeared to consider that for a moment. "Touché, lass."

Silently congratulating what she considered a victory, Emma quickly stepped away from his presence and bent near the sink, opening a drawer and spinning the Lazy Susan. Had she kept it there? Frowning, Emma stood up hastily, nearly colliding, again, with Hook.

"Do you _mind_?" she asked icily, stepping around him to another unopened cabinet.

"Lose something?" he questioned dryly.

"My mind," she muttered under her breath, slamming the cabinet door shut and whirling around to the counter, bracing both hands against it. She suddenly twisted back to a baffled-looking Hook as she fixed him with a defensive glare. "Like I said, I was doing find on my own."

"Admirable though your heroic antics are," he replied in a clipped accent, "you walk a fine line between bravery and stupidity." Emma grimaced. "You would have remained blissfully ignorant in dreams you could never hope to act on. You had no hope of making them _real, _should you have been content to simply _exist_ here."

"I wasn't—"

"I know you, Swan—"

"You don't know a damn thing—"

Hook leaned in closer so his mouth was at her ear. "I _know_ you," he repeated levelly. "And I know your dreams. You would have figured it out eventually, that none of it was real, and by then it would have been too late. Your dreams, though commendable, were entirely too perfect. There's no mess, love. No hassle, no fight, no _fire _in you here. You just…_are._" Emma sucked in a breath, her heart hammering inside her chest at his close proximity. "And that's no way to die. People like us," he pulled back to stare her in the eyes, noses almost touching, "we don't just go _out_ lifelessly. We _fight _for what we want most until we get it."

"How would you know?" She intended the question to come out strong and demanding, but instead the words came out in a short breath, cracked and wispy. "Neither of us have gotten there, gotten what we wanted, so how do you know it's not in our nature to just flicker out after so much?" The words pained her to say, but here in her head she was completely unguarded, a torrent of feelings and doubts she could only suppress when awake. Inside her mind, each horrible _what if _flooded her mouth with disgust, but she could not hold it back. Despite Henry, despite her wish to see him again—what if she simply wasn't strong enough to get back? "I'm human, Hook, not some damn never-ending pirate that's survived decades—centuries, whatever—to see out my revenge. For ten years, I never made any sort of move toward Henry. For _ten years_," her voice quivered. "And instead of me sucking up the courage to find him, the kid finds _me._ I don't know what the hell I'm doing. I don't _remotely_ possess the kind of twisted determination you have. And now that he's back in my life, I'm ripped away from him again."

"If I understand correctly, that wasn't by your choice, Swan."

"The point I'm trying to make," she pressed on, "is that I'm not some fairytale creature who jumps portals to live hundreds of years to act out his revenge. My magic-less realm is my home. And I'm _me. _I don't come packaged in Happily Ever After's and gift-wrapped with Never Lands. I only get one shot. As much as I hate it, there is going to come a time where I can't be there for Henry."

Hook seemed unsure of her words, whether he doubted her insistence of a magic-less life or not, she didn't know. What she _did _know was that the way he suddenly swept back the hair from her face and hooked his fingers around her ear, thumb tracing her jawline, felt _wonderful._

"Then don't let that time be now, lass. Years from now, when the lad's ready. But not now, not when he still needs his mum."

Emma locked eyes with him. She opened her mouth to say what, she didn't know, but before she could get it out, a loud knock came from the door. Emma pulled violently away from Hook, surging away from him and her front door. She looked to Hook, then the door, and back again. His brow was furrowed in confusion.

"Swan…"

The knock echoed loudly. Emma swallowed; her mouth felt dry as cotton. "I don't want to answer that door," she said stubbornly, eyes wide with unnamed terror.

"What?" Hook twisted his neck around to glance at the door before striding up to Emma. Without thinking, his hands lifted to frame her face. The knocking turned to pounding, but Hook lowered his head, bending his knees so he could peer into Emma's wild gaze levelly. "There's no one here but us, Swan." He searched her face for a moment, but Emma found she could not contain the quivering that had set somewhere in the pit of her stomach and shook her spine violently.

The pounding at the door—it reminded her of something, something horrible, something she had forgotten, hadn't meant to, but she had.

It grew louder, more insistent. She had lived this moment before, hadn't she? Knocking at her apartment door. Emma's face slipped into a frown. Something had been burning. She had just lit a candle…

The knocking jerked her out of the stupor. She reached up, gently tearing Hook's fingers from her face and lowering them to his sides. Whatever it was, she had to face it. Had to see who was at the door. She side-stepped him, heading towards the door. In a flash, Hook had planted himself between Emma and the door, arms planted firmly on either side of her. He trapped her against the wall, exhaling. "Emma, this is in your head. Do you understand that? Whatever you're hearing—it's just us, lass. No one but us." He bowed his head again, peering up at her beneath long lashes as if he was consoling a child.

"There's someone at the door," she insisted. "Someone knocked. And I have to—"

Hook's fist pounded against the wall, thudding a mere inch from her head. His anger blew against her face, reverberated off the walls and shook her ribcage. "Don't you bloody get it, you daft girl?! Your _mind_ is trying to keep you here! That _monster_ got inside your head long enough to turn your own self against you. It fed you enough euphoric dreams until you slipped into your own memories. They're _trapping_ you, Emma."

Emma fisted her hands and shoved at Hook's chest. Hard. He pulled back, momentarily stunned at her force. "_I'm forgetting everything!_" she snapped, voice deadly low. "I can't remember where I kept things in this damn apartment. I can't—I can't even remember who's supposed to be at the fucking door!" she screeched, whipping her hand back and pointing at the doorway.

The words, having escaped her mouth, became a truth. She felt herself slipping away inside her own head. She knew Henry. Her son. She had to get back. But beyond that…

Hook's face crumbled in frustration. She watched as his left hand came up to pinch the bridge of his nose, massaging it as his forehead crinkled in thought. "Your own mind," he repeated darkly, "is working against you, Emma. It's keeping you here, and it will keep you here until you are dead. That is how the Dargnell's poison works. It breathes death, lass, and you sucked it in like air."

Emma shook as the door rattled again. "You can't hear it? See it? I swear to God, it's shaking on its hinges," she whispered. "And I just—it could be my landlord wanting last month's rent. It could be Neal, I don't—did he leave? It could be an abusive…I just…" her voice broke into a strangled sob. Hot, angry tears pooled in her eyes before slipping down flushed cheeks. She hated herself. She hated her mind. She swore to God if she ever saw that Dargnell again it would learn to _fear _her.

Hook's hands were framing her face again, thumbs tracing away the tears that had managed to escape.

Emma looked up at him, resolute. "Fix me. _Please_. I have to get out of here. I have to…" she trailed off, closing her eyes against the hardened look he gave her.

"Trust me," he finished for her, voice on edge. "You have to trust me, Swan, or you're never going to get out of this alive."

She nodded, unable to meet his icy gaze. Trust. It was something new. For both of them.

Hook's fingers trapped her chin in his hand, angling her eyes back to his. His brows rose in assurance, nodding at her once before pursing his lips and pulling back. He hastily tore at his left sleeve, ripping out a long incision three inches wide. Using his teeth, he tugged at the remaining cloth, stretching out the piece of sleeve before her eyes. He gestured with it towards Emma's eyes.

She balked.

"If this is some kinky-ass method of yours—"

"Ah ah _ahhh_," he sing-songed. "What did we say, darling, about trying something new?" Without waiting for her approval, he stepped around her and slid the blindfold over her eyes, tying the knot tight. She could have sworn she felt his lips at her hair before stepping around to her front. She couldn't see a damn thing.

And it terrified her more than she would ever let him know.

His heat radiated in a soothing pulse, pressing around and calming her nerves. She hadn't realized how cold the apartment was. Emma shivered, unconsciously shifting toward him. She racked her brain for something to say, to break the awkward silence, but she quickly clamped her mouth shut and flinched when the knocking on the door started again. It was softer now, a knock of a small hand, but confident. Despite the blindfold, Emma closed her eyes and tilted her head to the side. She knew that knock.

She sucked in a deep breath, feeling Hook watch her. He was waiting. Patiently. For her to find her memory. Emma breathed in the smell of burning. Burning…cloth? Burning…paper? Burning…_candle._ And hot sugar. Instantly an image of her birthday cupcake flashed through her mind.

The knocking turned to pounding, but she knew it was the same knock. She focused, lips drawing downward into a frown. She had wished for something. There had been knocking. She had opened the door and—

"Henry," she breathed, sighing with relief. She could sense Hook's confusion, practically see him quirk a brow in question. Emma raised her head to where she thought their gazes might meet. "My son," she explained, out of breath, "he showed up on my doorstep on my twenty-eighth birthday. He's knocking at the door."

Heat suddenly encased her right cheekbone. His left hand cupped her jaw, rough fingers somehow delicately tracing patterns along her skin. "Emma-love, I'm going to get you out of here, do you understand? We have to leave now."

Emma bit her lip. She wanted to see Henry.

"I need both my arms, lass, so you'll have to hold onto me, understood?"

_That_ caught her attention. She snorted. "You want to give me a _piggy-back ride_?"

She could hear the hesitation in his voice. "My back in no way resembles a pig," he finally huffed, clearly disgruntled at the assumed insult.

Emma snorted again. "Who would have thought," she chuckled to herself, "the _infamous_ Captain Hook, offering a piggy-back ride."

"Will you just hold on, woman?" he snapped, hands suddenly at her waist and turning her towards him. His fingers felt hot at her hips and Emma found herself repressing a shudder. He backed up into her, doubled over, taking both arms and drawing them along his back and over his shoulder, clasping her hands for her around his neck. When he straightened up alone, her feet left the ground. She tightened her grip, fighting for purchase of her thighs around his waist. She scrambled on his back like a small child, struggling for a better hold. He choked and instantly bowed forward to loosen the dead weight from his neck. Hook twisted his neck to the side as he tried to fight for more air. Emma, oblivious, caught a distinct whiff of him. Salt, cedar, and snow. She casually bent her head forward, sucking in an even larger breath, as if she were trying to memorize the smell and box it away inside her head for a rainy day.

She instantly felt Hook freeze up beneath her. His head tiled back.

"Swan, are you _sniffing_ me?" He sounded amused.

Emma scrunched up her nose, as though he could see her reaction. "Kind of hard not to," she hissed. "Ever heard of a shower before?"

"Actually—"

Emma rolled her eyes from behind the blindfold. "Forget about it. Let's just," she sighed, "get out of here."

Hook reached around and boosted Emma further up his back until she could find a comfortable choke-hold that didn't quite meet its name. She wrapped her legs more firmly around his waist, hooking her ankles and burrowing her head against his neck. The pounding had increased tenfold; she could hear the door rattling its frame, slamming over and over as if some monster were trying to get through. She felt Hook brace himself before reaching out to twist open the knob. She wanted to ask _why_ the bloody _hell_ they were going _towards_ danger, but she had a feeling she already knew the answer why.

The way forward was the way back.

"I've got you, Swan," he reassured, hand wrapped tightly around the knob. His left hand came to rest on her calf, giving it a squeeze. "I won't let go." Emma couldn't help but wonder if his words, fierce and promising, were meant to imply a double meaning.

Before she could ask, the door exploded.

**x**

**x**

**x**

* * *

**Review? **


	16. Chapter 15

**Alright, here it is. The chapter you've been waiting for. I have many more plans for this tale, so we aren't done yet, but I sincerely hope you enjoy this! I am beyond proud of this chapter—I personally think it's one of the most exciting yet, and it's the longest so far. I'd love some feedback! Happy Fourth of July, everyone!**

**Word of warning: Serious Hook is serious. Major feels ahead. **

* * *

Chapter 15

**x**

"_**How long have I been in this storm? **_

_**So overwhelmed by the ocean's shapeless form**_

_**Water's getting harder to tread**_

_**With these waves crashing over my head…**_

_**And I will walk on water**_

_**And you will catch me if I fall.**_

_**And I will get lost into your eyes**_

_**I know everything will be alright.**_

_**I know everything is alright."**_

**x**

**x**

**x**

The explosion of wood, accompanied with a sickening _crrrrack!_, was enough for Emma to lose her composure. The room behind them melted away into a maelstrom, the cabinets and walls blending together into a circular portal that threatened to suck them in. Emma's hands slipped from around Hook, and it seemed as if the very ground behind them gave way. Her feet dangled helplessly in the air. Pain shot through her arms as she struggled to hold on, wrapping her limbs around Hook as he fought to maintain purchase on the door's frame. He let out a groan as his weight, nearly doubled with Emma, threatened to throw him backwards into what was left of the apartment—a giant, black hole.

"Remind me again," she shouted over the howling wind, "why carrying me was _such_ a good idea!"

"A man always loves a good bout of exercise," he roared back, "with a woman on top!" Tightening his grip on the crumbling plaster, he threw himself through the doorway, latching onto Emma when her hands began to slip from around him.

She was beginning to regret soaking him in his personal downpour—the man hardly had any form of traction for gripping.

"Would you _mind_ not killing us?! Or is that too much to ask for?"

Despite the jostling, she could feel his back shake with laughter against her chest. "Quite comical, isn't it, how quickly fantasy becomes reality?"

"Hil_arious_," she spat. Her brow crinkled in confusion against the blindfold. She bowed her head closer to his ear, as if afraid the uproar around them would cease long enough to eavesdrop. "This is a dream. We can't—we can't _die_ here, can we?"

"I'd be right as rain, lass, should something happen." His voice was loud but void of emotion. Hook's body gave another lurch; she could feel the muscles of his back tense, arms working back and forth as if he were climbing a tree. She felt gravity press in around her, and all the while, attempt to pull her away from him. She clung tighter. "_You_, however," he continued, "would slip into a comatose state."

"Coma's aren't always fatal. Lots of people come out—"

"A comatose state that precedes death," he interrupted grimly.

_Oh._

Something struck Emma's shoulder hard, threatening to tear her away. She flung her loose hand out and swung it around madly to grab hold of whatever was keeping them from flying backwards. Emma's hand found Hook's, wrapped tightly around what felt like a waterline pipe. She held on with her right hand, her left still cupping Hook's neck. "That would have been nice to know earlier!" she yelled, throat tight and scratchy as she fought to be heard above the chaos. Objects she couldn't see whizzed past her, some clipping her side aggressively. A loud, thunderous rumbling ahead grew noisier, the sounds of a large entity coming towards them. Hook threw his right arm out around Emma, drawing her protectively into his side until the threat had passed—whatever it had been. His smell wafted around her. Emma found herself unconsciously breathing him in like air, allowing him to pull her close while they held onto the pipe.

The only thing she could think of, aside from the feel of Hook's hand pressed snugly into her hip, was the fact of _how fucked up her head was. _It was a wonder, she mused, she had survived this long without a psychiatrist holding her hand.

"Do you _mind_ imagining us the hell out of here?!" Hook barked, reading her mind.

With her eyes already blindfolded, it was easy to picture things around them—the pole above their heads with a vast nothingness beneath them. She concentrated hard, envisioning a concrete slab under their feet arching towards a rustic door—a door she prayed would take them back, closer to the beginning of the nightmare.

"'Ello! Job well done, Swan!" She twisted her ankles in the air but her toes didn't strike a thing. She bit her lip, wondering if she'd managed to screw up a simple escape.

The pipe above her head suddenly flung upwards, Hook's weight disappearing. His hand, however, stayed at her side. She threw the arm she had tucked around his neck up and over the pipe, struggling to hold on. She felt his arm braced along her leg. He was under her. "When I say," he instructed, "let go! Ready?"

"No!"

"_Now!_"

Teeth clenched tightly, she willed her hands to slowly slip until her strength gave out. She let go. Air rushed around her, sweeping up her hair as the wind tried to jerk her upward. Strong fingers wrapped around her calf, trapping her down as Hook's hands climbed up her leg, towing her down to him.

Hands that made a rather _exploratory_ venture under the guise of assistance.

But really.

Did he _need_ to draw his hand across her ass to pull her down?

Emma smacked him away, allowing him to keep his left hand on her shoulder while she threw her arms out. He grumbled something akin to "just admiring the view" but kept his hand to himself. Her palms bumped clumsily into the door ahead before sliding down and tugging it open.

Hook shoved her through roughly. The door slammed behind them.

Emma reached up to tear away the blindfold, hoping the worst was behind them, when two strong hands trapped her wrists in a vice-like grip. She winced, but Hook's hold remained with an almost violent persistence. "You're hurting me," she hissed, giving one more jerk of her arms for emphasis.

"Then be _still_," he spat back. But something in his voice made Emma stop and listen, an obedient act she would later deny with vehemence. His tone was deadly soft, frayed with an edge of panic.

Something was wrong.

_Really _wrong.

"What's happening? Where are we?" she whispered. Hook tugged her closer, roughly pushing her behind him as if to shield her already blind eyes from the view.

"Despite your instinct to do the exact opposite of whatever I say, Emma…" he sighed, tightening his grip on her arm and changing his approach. "What are the odds of you acquiescing to leave the blindfold on—if I requested it?"

Her response required little deliberation. "Slim to none."

Hook sighed again. "I thought as much." Emma frowned. Before she could react, both her hands were maneuvered into the iron lock of Hook's grip. Fear shot through her spine but she tried to reason with herself. This was _Hook_, a man who had broken into her head to pull her out from the Dargnell's spell. He had led her this far. Emma swallowed back the bile rising in her throat. He would not abuse that power.

Would he?

She heard rustling and the distinct _snap! _of metal. Her arms were jerked forcefully behind her, a hard binding woven around her wrists. "Normally removing my belt precedes more _gratifying_ activities," his accent lilted, "but I can make an exception just this once for you." His hand came up to tap her cheek in a lighthearted pat. "Rain check, darling?" Still, his playfulness hinged on fear—she could hear it in the way his words quivered, lacking his usual confidence.

"Like you don't get off on manhandling me," she snapped back, rearing her head away from his reach.

He grabbed her elbow, leaning forward to breathe against her ear. "You aren't to move a muscle, understood?" It was a statement, though, more than a question. A command. Emma bristled. She didn't do too well with orders. Or bindings of any sort. She made a mental note to inquire later as to whether he had any relatives by the name of Jefferson.

Emma shook her head, nearly wincing at the way the blindfold cinched and clung to her eyes. She threw her leg out to take a step forward, but quickly found her arms were not only bound, but tied to what felt like a metal bar. "You're just going to leave me here?" Her voice deadpanned, hardly surprised.

"Partings between us are always filled with such sweet sorrow, Swan, but I give you my word I shall return momentarily. Try not to miss me, beautiful."

She heard him move away, boots creating a soft thud on the floor. The sound echoed, suggesting they were in a wide, open room. Emma tilted her head to the side, desperate to pick up any other clues as to her surroundings. She sucked in a deep breath and quickly regretted it. Her nose scrunched up—the room smelled damp and rotten. Desperate for clean air, she focused on her other senses. A soft shuffle, somewhere ahead, was quickly followed by a _thump_. Hook groaned before a second _thump_ reverberated dully against her ears. He'd given no sound of alarm, so she guessed they were alone and that he had not, in fact, been knocked unconscious, an act she would have quickly forgiven the intruder for. Instead, by the scuffle of his feet, it sounded as though he were moving things out of the way. Clearing a path.

Why was it such a big deal for him to save his male ego and keep her from helping? She felt her teeth clench in tension. Maybe he was just saving his own ass. Maybe he'd finally gotten fed up with her and had decided to fight his own way out of her God-forsaken brain.

Red-hot rage seared her insides. Emma's fingers danced around the metal bar and, taking a deep breath, she imagined her fingers stroking air instead. She leaned forward and felt nothing—nothing but air slice through her palm. The bar had vanished.

Determination lit inside her veins. Emma braced herself for a wave of admonishment before carefully taking a step towards where she _thought_ she heard Hook moving. She waited on bated breath—he was clearly too busy to notice her movement. Good.

She took a second step.

Nothing.

A third.

Nothing.

On the fourth step, her feet, bare and confident, slipped on something wet and sticky, forcing her to lose her footing. Emma allowed her body to go limp, expecting a hard collision with the floor. Instead, she landed on something firm yet cushioned. The way it gave into her weight but stood in a resolute manner of bone-like structures made Emma realize it wasn't a some_thing_. She had landed on some_one._

At the sound of her fall, she heard a sharp swear leave Hook's mouth before being roughly jerked to her feet. "Who is—"

"Now's not the bloody time to play games, Swan," Hook snarled, his hands taking a possessive hold around her middle. He lifted her against him and began to tote her back towards the door. _Why_ he thought that would keep her stationary, she would never know.

"Go to hell!"

"Piss off!" he hissed back, fingers sinking like claws into her squirming sides. His heavy breath fell on her ear, his scent wafting around her in an overwhelming onslaught against her senses. Frantic to fight off whatever power he had begun to have over her, Emma twisted her head to the side and burrowed her face into his sleeve, unintentionally loosening the blindfold from its embrace. She felt the cloth slacken. With renewed determination, Emma drove her cheek against his shoulder and sleeve again. Hook, oblivious of her intentions, lost his grip with a pained groan as Emma struck her leg out square between his legs. She fell again, collapsing halfway atop the object—_body, _she reminded herself with a grimace—that had stunted her fall moments before.

The blindfold ebbed away, slipping up and over her head.

At first, she inadvertently squinted against the harsh light that flooded her eyes. She blinked back pain as her dilated pupils attempted to make sense of her surroundings. She could make out the dark lump of cloth her cheek pressed against. Beyond that, large shapes huddled against what appeared to be a barred wall. Further still, a darkened door stood erect and threatening—the way out.

She was back in the prison cell. Only the walls were elongated, and the floor was covered with figures dressed in eerily familiar clothing.

Emma tried to ignore the stench that infiltrated her nose. Instead, she shut her eyes as Hook made a grab for her again. Emma rolled out of his grip, over and across the body. She mentally pictured a rather large knife in her palms, angry with herself for having not broken the bonds earlier. Before the image was complete, she was gripping its wooden handle between her fingers and sawing away at the belt.

It broke loose easily, snapping as Emma tugged her hands forward. She pushed herself up and held the knife out. Her blurred gaze zeroed on Hook.

He made no move towards her, instead choosing to lift an eyebrow tauntingly. "What, not enough foreplay, love?"

"We do this," Emma breathed heavily, "as a team."

"Does it really drive you this _mad_ when you have no control?" He sounded angry and frustrated, the sudden disappointment in his tone seizing at Emma's heart. "Why is the concept of trust complete rubbish to you? It's not that farfetched to place your life in the hands of another human being, Swan. Especially when they're trying to save your fucking life."

He wiped a tired hand over his face. His skin pulled downward in a way she hadn't noticed before, as if the past few hours, days, weeks in her head had aged him beyond repair. Of course, she reminded herself hastily, it could have just as easily all been in her head. But still…

Emma's knuckles turned white on the knife.

"We do this together," she repeated firmly. "Or not at all. Blindfolding is one thing, carrying is another, but tying me to a pole and expecting me to just be _complacent_ with the fact I just landed on a—a _dead_ person—is completely _beyond_ okay."

"Emma," he began, his tone deep and dangerously quiet, "this is _your_ doing. Your head, your issues, love. As such, I expect you _know_ those…" he cleared his throat, dragging his eyes away from the body at her feet and back to her face. He watched her own gaze trail downwards but before she could make out the formation of the face beneath her, he captured her jaw in his hand and drew her face up to his. "We don't have much longer, darling. Your mind is fighting us, and believe me, if you dwell long enough on what this room contains, on the _what if'_s, you will die here." His grip tightened almost painfully, eyes searching her face. Emma watched the blue flicker back and forth, as if he was fighting his own personal battle. "If I say jump, you—"

"Ask how high," she spoke through clenched teeth, angered by his demanding presence.

A shadow crossed over his brow. "No. You jump. This isn't a domination contest. I'm trying to help you, you infuriating thing. We jump together. Or we die."

"I die," she corrected bluntly. He didn't deny it, but instead tossed her head away from him with disgust.

"_You_ have something to fight for, Swan. Don't give it up so easily." Emma watched as he turned his back on her, bypassing her as he made his way to the door. Something inside her fisted itself, leaving her breathless. In that moment, in that look of desolation that had shadowed his face, she saw the Hook who truly had nothing. He had nothing to live for, no one worth dying for. How could someone so lost have pressed on for so long? _His anger. He knows nothing else. _Emma took a deep breath before reassessing the pirate ahead of her. He no longer took the time to pull the numerous bodies out of the way, of faces that had yet to shimmer into recognition. Instead, he stepped over and on them, choosing to ignore Emma or expecting her to follow—she didn't know.

She glanced down at the knife still posed in her hand before sighing. The weapon dissolved in her hand with barely a thought, sifting through her fingers like ashes. It amazed her that she held so much power here, and yet none of it really seemed to matter in the grand scheme of things. Whatever she did here, whatever she controlled, it would be beyond her the second she awoke. She found she cherished the power to manipulate her world—but not enough to die for it.

Emma exhaled long and hard and stepped over the body of a face she refused to acknowledge. She thought she saw a flicker of movement as she passed but she disregarded it. _If you dwell long enough on what this room contains…you will die here. _Hook's words echoed loudly in her mind.

She picked up her speed, nearly going at a jog, before something grabbed her ankle and twisted. Hard.

She heard a sickening pop before half-falling, half-crouching onto the ground, glancing over her shoulder to see what her foot had caught on.

A hand, bruised and covered in blood, tightened its grasp on her ankle and slowly dragged her toward its body. The head, facing the opposite end of the room, turned in jerking movements. The neck rotated in a start-stop fashion, the jaw tilting up as if it were nodding before finally working its way around to face Emma. She cringed. Her heart thundered in her throat, blocking a scream.

The forehead spasmodically slid to the side before a cheekbone met the floor. Despite the sharpened angles of the body, she looked in horror as the face before her puffed and rounded itself. Liquid orbs solidified into pools of brown. Plump lips broke into a cocky smirk. A smirk that had, once upon a time, drawn her in so quickly and made her forget everything, from her abandonment to neglectful foster parents.

Suddenly, the skeletal hand ensnaring her ankle didn't seem so horrible. The way his thumb moved across her ankle in soothing strokes sent a calming euphoria up her spine and into her muddied brain.

"_Neal?_" she whispered.

"Emma?" a voice questioned distantly. There was pause in it, as if someone from behind had turned around.

"Hey, beautiful," the head at her ankle croaked, offering her that lopsided grin.

"Wha-what happened to you?" Her mouth felt a million miles away, her words spoken through a long tunnel with Neal at the other end. She hadn't meant to shout—he just seemed so far to her.

"Emma! _No!_" that voice shouted again. Footsteps and swearing.

Neal rolled over, his awkwardly large body morphing before her eyes as the bones rearranged themselves to his size. The movement, however, went unnoticed by Emma as her eyes honed in on the gaping hole in his chest. "You did, sweetheart."

"I—I couldn't have, I just…_no._" Emma stared at the place where his heart should have been. Neal's grip tensed but it was pointless—she scooted closer of her own accord. She reached out to somehow fix it. Her hand came away full and fluttering.

"Tallahassee, baby, just you and me."

Emma disregarded the roaring behind her. The room stretched, lengthening its walls according to Emma's will and preventing Hook from gaining enough ground. She could hear him, far away. All she could see, though, was the quivering organ in her hand.

"You did this, babe. You," his upper lip curled back in a sudden, vicious snarl, "did this to _me_." His neck strained when he crooked his head to get a better look. "You little _bitch. _You really thought," he spat, emphasizing the "t" thickly, "that I'd up and leave. With _you._ That you were worth all of it. What a stupid…" his voice trailed off in a murmur of vile expletives that burned Emma's ears. She felt her face grow hot.

This was all wrong.

With a groan, she felt the seconds ticking past, like sand in an hourglass. Her time was growing short. And she was sick of wasting it.

With a shake of disgust, Emma pulled herself to her feet, imagining the heart gone as she kicked Neal's hand away. "You aren't real," she said, more for herself than for him. She stared at him for a long moment. "That may be true," she continued, shaking her head, "But. You. Aren't. Real. You're nothing more than an idea. A memory. The last I ever saw of Neal Cassady was that day at the train station. Between the two of us, _you_ were the only one who ripped out a heart. Don't you _ever_," she hissed, "fuck with me again. Stay the hell away from me. Stay the hell away from my kid. And stay the hell out of my _head_."

Her ankle slid back into place on a whim. Emma, grateful for small imaginative favors, whipped her head around to find Hook inches away, lips pursed and brows bent in a smooth line. He looked pissed. Beyond pissed.

"What the _fuck _is _he_ doing here?" he snarled, trapping her arm in his grasp.

Emma had to keep her jaw from dropping. Anger flared inside her. She bared her teeth like an animal, charging into his personal space. "He's Henry's _father._ My ex. Is there a problem with that?"

"That's impossible," Hook growled, glaring over her shoulder at the frozen body with a look of venom and something akin to regret.

"You do know how sex works, right?" Emma remarked dryly. She shoved both of them further away from Neal, whose body had gone listless and still, decomposing into a figure of bones and lumpy tissue, as if ready to conform to whoever Emma saw in it next.

She searched Hook's face for a moment before the lightbulb clicked. Recognition pooled in his eyes, and the way his brows furrowed and mouth gaped—Emma's heart stopped.

"Do you know him?"

Hook seemed to check himself before returning his furious gaze to hers. "As you said, that would be impossible."

_Lie. _

"Do you. Know. Him?"

Hook sneered. "He reminds me of someone. Someone that I believed long dead."

_Close, but still a lie. _

Emma decided, against her argumentative nature, to let it go. She would have plenty of time traipsing around the Goddamn fairytale forest to interrogate the son of a bitch.

"Whatever," she spat. Her tone clearly ended the discussion, and for a moment Hook appeared relieved. But almost instantly, his relief was replaced by a barely-concealed rage. He rounded on her, twisting her arm in his grip.

"Try another stunt like that one, princess," he nodded towards Neal, "and I will leave you here to die. One more strike, Swan," he exhaled through gritted teeth, "and we are _done._"

Emma huffed. "What, no 'congratulations' or 'I'm so glad you're going to make it out of this alive?'"

"You want a pat on the back, is that it?" His arm shot around her and shoved her towards the door roughly. She nearly tripped over her own feet. "There you go, lass. All yours." Emma held her tongue to keep from lashing out at him. She marched stiffly towards the door, toying with the idea of a spontaneously-combusting Hook.

She was nearly at the door, successfully ignoring the distractions in the room, when something else drew her attention away from escape. She felt a squeeze at her palm and looked down. Hook had reached out for her hand, effectively trapping and lacing her fingers through his.

Bipolar bastard.

Emma felt the heat of his body race up her arm and to her chest. She couldn't help but feel her resentment ebb. She was going to live. Because of him. She looked to his face for some sign or explanation, but he stared straight ahead at the door, mouth set in a grim line. She glanced down again at their locked fingers before sucking in a deep breath and forcing her way through the door, trying her hardest to ignore the butterflies that had suddenly taken to housing in her stomach.

Emma was hardly surprised when her feet touched down on sand again. She stood there for a moment, watching the waves tuck and roll across the grainy beach. Sea foam glittered beneath the hot sun. Bits of coral, shell, and seaweed were pushed up the shore and dragged back by the greedy tide. In the distance, she heard laughter. She didn't have to look to know who it belonged to. She stopped listening, instead focusing on the way Hook's hand seemed to transfer strength and courage to her. She concentrated on the way his rough hands enclosed around her smooth skin, his grip intermittently constricting in a possessive manner as he pulled her closer to his side, trapping her against him.

"Okay," she breathed, "so how do we do this? Get out of my head, I mean."

"I've got my part down, so let's focus on you, shall we?" His voice sounded detached, but the way his hand practically crushed hers said otherwise. "Your mind is well aware this is fantasy, correct? So it would seem, the most logical thing to follow, would be to make your body aware as well." He stepped further away from the door, Emma in tow.

"So what? Pinch myself or something?"

Hook glanced at her over his shoulder, a stormy scowl etched into his face. "Why on _earth_ would that solve our dilemma?" he demanded gruffly, clearly in too fowl a mood to placate her ignorant inquiry.

Angered, Emma whipped her hand out of his, no longer feeling so keen on physical content with a jackass. She followed him to the shoreline as he quickened his pace, boots breaking the surf before he finally stopped. She nearly collided with his back and carefully braced herself before stepping around him. Determined to ignore the distant sounds of mirth carried from farther down shore, she looked to the horizon for answers.

Without warning, Hook began to drag her towards the ocean, his hand having snagged hers again unbeknownst to Emma. She dug her heels into the sand when she realized he meant to pull her to sea. Something about the unknown—the depths of mystery in that giant body of water—frightened her more than the concept of a dying Neal. Emma balked. Hook rounded on her, snapping. "Surely our fearless leader isn't afraid of getting a little _wet_?" He couldn't help the flash of a grin that slid across his face at the unintended innuendo.

Emma glared. "If your grand idea of escape is to body surf your way out of my head, then I'll watch from here."

"Have you ever drowned, Swan?" Hook ignored her, turning her body to face him as he took both her shoulders in his hands, bracing himself against her at arms' length. She hated to admit she loved the way he bent his knees slightly, peering at her from eye level beneath those darkened brows of his.

God.

She was in over her head.

"I don't think we'd be having this conversation if—"

"In your dreams," he interrupted in a clipped accent. "Drowned in your dreams." He prodded her forehead with his index finger as if she were a child before resuming his hold on her collarbone. "In here."

Emma frowned. "I think everyone's had that dream before. It sucks," she added bluntly.

"Your use of the word is highly debatable, but my point is…an understanding is reached in such a state, correct?"

Emma's frown deepened. Hook absently reached up to smooth away the crinkle in her forehead. His hand dropped to her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze while she thought it out. Taking in a lungful of salt water was _never_ a pleasant experience, even in a dream. But she had never drowned. She had always managed to continue breathing, her body adapting and coming to terms with the illogical. And some small fragment of her had always acknowledged her survival as illogical—as a dream.

Her eyes widened. "My body will wake up."

Hook straightened to his full height, towering over her. He ruffled her hair with his hand before dropping it to his side. "One hopes."

"So there's no guarantee?"

"Well it's not as if I've done this sort of thing before," he barked. And Emma realized—he wasn't mad _at_ her, he was mad _for _her. He was just as out of control as she was. He had no hand in her survival; it was entirely up to her. She swallowed back the lump that had suddenly lodged itself in her throat.

"And Emma," he interrupted her thoughts, once again trapping her jaw in his grasp. "_When_ you wake," he emphasized fervently, "do not hesitate. Run. Find your mother. And wish her the hell away."

"Wait. Where are _you_? Back there, I mean. Where will you be? You said you took care of the Dargnell."

"_Only other creatures of the forest can kill a Dargnell,_" he reminded her.

Emma stared. "You're not from the forest."

"I'm hardly a _creature_," he drawled dramatically as if she had missed the more obvious point.

"Then how…?"

"I have other means," he brushed aside her inquiry. "Just swear to me you will not look back. You will run. And you will save her. Give her a bit of your blood and tell her to wish her way back. She can't know you won't be accompanying her, or she'll never leave, so, as farfetched a thing it may be for you," he rolled his eyes sarcastically, "lie to her."

"What about you?" Emma asked again brokenly. She would have to say goodbye to Mary M—her mother. In her own way.

"I'll find you. Just. _Run._" Without further instruction, he began towing her out into the water. The crisp foam lapped against her toes. It was past her ankles now, then her knees. Hook drew her deeper and deeper into the water. Emma fought the surge of fear that plummeted down to her intestines. She felt sick. She had to do this. She had to.

_Get a grip, Swan,_ Hook's words came back to her, washing over her with the tide. _Save those who you can save, and forget everything else. Give your son what you can. _

The waves brushed over her shoulder, slipping up to her ears. Hook drew her to his chest, and she let him. He was taller so it was easier for him to pull her into the deeper water. Her toes left the sand. She struck down but felt nothing. Squirming inside, she pushed herself against him, bracing one arm over his shoulder and pushing the hair back out of her face with her other. She caught a glimpse of the sandy shore. Of her beach house. From the outside, it _did_ look like a model of perfection. White picket fence. Blue boards. She could make out even more details now. Like a mailbox with the name _Cassady_ hand-painted along the side, decorated with four colored handprints—two large, two little. A large, oak tree had sprouted along the side of the house. She could just picture Henry or Dakota climbing it, building a tree fort with Neal, and Henry breaking his first bone when he would fall out of it. The picket fence had extended itself to include the side of the house and what she imagined to be a backyard, wide, open, and green, where their Alaskan Husky could run. Dakota would start her first miniature garden, and would cry for days when everything she planted inevitably died. Emma squinted and could make out a small cross beneath the oak, where a first pet would have been buried. And neighbors would grow along the beach—not enough to take away from the seclusion, but enough to share a cup of sugar with, for the children to grow old together with, and for spouses to swap babysitters for date nights. Emma, in that moment, could imagine an entire lifetime. And she found it easy to understand why anyone under the Dargnell's curse would want to stay under, stay unconscious and just drift away none-the-wiser.

She felt Hook's heated gaze burning into her and she shyly turned to meet his eyes. His thumb found its way to her cheek, wiping away a tear she hadn't noticed in vain with his already-wet fingertip. She couldn't understand the change in him, the sudden warmth that he gave off, but she accepted it like a child would. Without question.

"Ready, love?"

_No. _"As ready as I'll ever be."

He nodded, seeing through the lie easily. "See you on the other side, then." He offered her an encouraging smile, genuine and true. It set her off guard for a moment.

He didn't even take a breath before plunging beneath the waves, trapping both her hands in his and pulling her down with him. Emma sucked in a deep breath before following. Despite how the water should have stung, Emma saw clearly and painlessly, watching Hook watch her. She blew a few bubbles out her nose, testing her lungs' patience. They tightened uncomfortably, all-too-ready for another bout of oxygen. Her body began to constrict, folding in on itself from the lack of air. She looked up to the surface, merely a foot away. If she gave a kick to the sandy bottom, she could make it. Her chest squeezed, pain ricocheting up her lungs and into her suddenly pounding head. She imagined her face going blue, eyes bulging and body seizing spasmodically. She couldn't hold it.

She needed air.

Now.

Emma struck her heel down, ready to kick up to the surface, when Hook jerked her closer. His arm wrapped around her waist, left hand resting at the small of her back. His right led her up against him. He cupped her jaw in his hand, fingers brushing idly along her skin. And just as she was prepared to fight, her lungs desperate for that extra breath, Hook's lips crashed down on hers.

The moment his mouth met hers, Emma found herself kissing him back with a passion even she could not deny. His touch was electrifying, sending every nerve in her body on edge. All thoughts of suffocation and water-logged lungs were banished by the overwhelming dominance Hook threw into the kiss. He crushed Emma against him, his hands lifting to hold her head in place while he tilted his against the tide, angling his jaw for better access. Emma gasped when his mouth found her pulse point, forcing her to breathe in a mouthful of saltwater. Against expectations, nothing happened. Her lungs expelled the water and brought in what felt like crisp air. When she realized she wasn't going to drown, her body sagged against Hook with relief before being made entirely aware of his teeth scraping possessively against her neck. As much as she had pictured him to be the dominatrix type, she found herself surprised when, moments later, his lips found hers again—his tongue slid along her bottom lip, teeth nipping as he silently asked permission for entrance. She gave it all too quickly—or _willingly_, as her conscience begged to differ—opening up to him as her tongue fought his for the upper hand. His left arm, entirely unrealistic and _whole_, snaked behind her back and, despite the buoyancy of the ocean, hoisted Emma up against him. Her legs naturally wrapped around his waist. She dug her heels into his lower back, mouth sliding along his jaw until she found herself breathing into his ear, gasping for breath. His tongue ran along the shell of her ear, causing Emma to practically wilt against him.

All of it—the ocean, the kiss—it was so…so _unreal_.

"Wake up, love. It's time." His whisper caressed her skin, igniting a flame down her spine and into the pit of her stomach. Her insides felt like complete mush.

Emma leaned back. The water around them _crumbled_, flaking apart like sawdust. Emma felt herself rip, like a Band-Aid off a fresh wound. Something was missing. Something important. She was alone, underwater, and she could hear her heart echo for miles. Her lips stung, raw and torn from a kiss she would _never… _Her lungs pulled in one breath, exhaled another, and she _knew…_

* * *

Emma Swan's eyes flew open.

Drawn up against a tree, she saw the world clearly for what it was, for the first time in what felt like _years._ Ignoring the pain in her legs, head, and side from her chase, she gripped the bark and hauled herself to her feet.

The forest was eerily quiet.

"_Mom!_" she screamed, choosing in that moment to accept Mary Margaret for who she was.

It may have been the last time, after all.

"Emma!"

She whipped around, bolting in the direction of her mother's voice. Her head throbbed, wounds from Cora and her struggle to escape the Dargnell reopening. Fresh blood trickled down her limbs but she pushed past the pain. She had to send Mary Margaret home. To Henry. For both of them.

Emma nearly crashed into her mother, having leapt over a fallen tree. Mary Margaret caught her, eyes pooling as she folded Emma into her arms tightly. Emma nearly complained that she couldn't _breathe_ but she quickly swallowed her words when Mary Margaret's breath hitched—she was crying.

"I was so _afraid_—"

"I know, Mom, I know." Emma's fingers found her mother's hair. She slowly raked her nails through the dark, pixie cut, memorizing the feel of her mother's small frame pressed against hers. Memorizing what it felt like to _be _held, to be _loved._

No.

She would _not_ cry here.

Crying meant goodbye.

She would see her again.

She would.

"We have to go," Emma whispered against her mother's hair, giving her one last squeeze before pulling back.

"Hook—he saved you, we can hide and wait for him to—"

"_No,_" Emma interjected firmly. "We go _now._"

_We. You. _

_You go now. _

"Emma," Mary Margaret's grip on Emma's shoulder tightened gently, and Emma could see it in her eyes that she was questioning her. Her mother was, once again, torn between doing what was _best _and what was _right._

"Hook told me he had another way. He'll find us in Storybrooke. But we have to take _our_ chance. Now. Henry and David—" but she didn't have to finish, because at the mention of David, Mary Margaret was suddenly dragging her by the arm.

"Where are we going?" Emma demanded bitterly. "I can get us there from here." Her voice nearly cracked on the lie.

"Mulan. I'm not leaving her behind. There's nothing left for her here. She goes with us," her mother replied, voice choppy and out of breath as she broke into a run. Emma found herself sprinting to keep up. They rounded a bend in the tree line.

"You're alive," Mulan breathed, rushing forward as she lowered her raised bow. She eyed Emma up and down before offering a hesitant smile. "How?"

"Hook," Emma said simply. She spotted Mulan's knife tucked safely in its sheath at her side. Emma ripped it out of its hold, slicing the blade through her own right palm without a second thought. She handed the blade back, ignoring Mulan's shocked look as she drew both women closer. Her left hand brushed against her pocket, suddenly, and she glanced down, fishing around and withdrawing a small vial. The remnants of the wardrobe ash. She'd nearly forgotten.

She slapped the bottle down into Mary Margaret's hand.

"Why don't you just hold onto it?" the woman frowned, staring down at the bottle. Emma rolled her eyes impatiently.

"I'm notorious for being a victim of pick-pocketing," she reminded her, thinking back on Hook and his butter fingers. "We can't afford to lose this. It might come in handy." _It might be the only way you can bring me back home. _

"How does it work?" Mulan inquired, watching as Emma carefully spilt the pooling blood from her palm to Mulan's and Mary Margaret's.

"We just wish. The bean's magic is in my blood, according to Hook, so it should do the trick. But since _you_ have no idea where you're going," Emma turned towards Mary Margaret, "_you_ should think back on home. It should be enough. Just…imagine it. Picture the town in your head, think of David, and…we'll be there before you know it." She gave a small smile of encouragement, looking down to wrap her hands around the two women's.

She felt as if time was on fast-forward, suddenly. She would have given _anything_ to slow it down, even just a little. But there was no time. The urgency of Hook's warning forced her to act quickly. She had to send them off. Now.

"Okay. Ready?"

Both women nodded. They closed their eyes, but Emma kept hers on Mary Margaret's face. Round, angelic—full of peace and hope. Something Emma wished she had.

Even watching her mother, she pictured Storybrooke before her. A whirling sensation flooded her fingertips, like static from a sleeping limb. She tightened her grip on her mother, picturing Henry. Her son. Her boy. A soft tug pulled on her arm. Mary Margaret and Mulan were fading fast before her, like the afterimage of smoke—wispy and gone before she could thread her fingers through the illusion. At the last possible moment, Emma reached out to touch her mother's face.

"I love you, Mom."

"Emma?" Mary Margaret's eyes flew open, as if she sensed the urgency in it, the desperation, the _goodbye, _but it was too late.

They were gone before her mother could object.

**x**

**x**

**x**

* * *

**Whoa. Just…whoa. What on **_**earth**_** could possibly happen next? **

_**Please**_** let me know what you think! A lovely contribution in that little review box would just make my millennium.**


	17. Chapter 16

**Thank you soooooo much for your awesome reviews! Definitely made my millennium! You guys sure know how to make an author happy. Now, for another chapter. Enjoy!**

* * *

Chapter 16

**x**

_**"And it's dark in a cold December, **_

_**but I've got you to keep me warm.**_

_**And if you're broke I'll mend you **_

_**and keep you sheltered from the storm that's raging on..."**_

**x**

**x**

**x**

Emma stared at the place where, a moment before, the air around her had rippled and her mother disappeared, taking Mulan and any hope of getting home with her. The only evidence that Mary Margaret had even been there rested in the whites of Emma's palm and fingers, the blood slowly pooling back in from where her mother had grabbed her hand and squeezed so hard in some last-minute desperation to hold on.

To hold onto _what_, Emma wondered miserably. Her daughter. Her only anchor in _this_ world. Her only chance to, by some miracle, drag Emma with her.

The only thing Emma felt sure of was that _if_ she ever saw Mary Margaret again, the woman would skin her alive and filet her as a special at Granny's for what she had just done. But it had to be done. Emma had no reservations, no regrets, about that. Mary Margaret would have done the same.

She stretched her fingertips, watching the pale yellow recede into a flushed pink. Her whole body felt as if it had been thrown under a bus loaded with elephants. Her ribs ached with each breath, forcing blood to her pounding head and waking up her tingling limbs, a sensation that only brought on more pain as her body broke from the paralysis spell. She felt like collapsing and waiting for Hook to find her. She bit her lip, chewing on the dry skin. He _had_ said he would find her, hadn't he?

With a groan, Emma gave one last look at the spot where her mother and Mulan had vanished before turning to face the forest, forcing herself forward one foot at a time. She realized she no longer cared what Hook had said. Reality slapped her firmly in the face as she gathered her bearings, far from her hazy imagination—though her lips still burned. Despite everything that had happened, hesitation still found itself rooted firmly in her chest, tightening and squeezing until she felt sick with distrust. He was a pirate, and by definition, a lying bastard. He didn't abide by promises or rules, especially _her _rules. They were no longer in her head. She could no longer manipulate her surroundings, a skill she was sure had influenced Hook's projection and, consequently, any feelings she had begun to suspect he may have had for her. She had simply made it all up—any trace of passion she'd seen etched on his face, from finding her in the alley to kissing her beneath the tide. It was _pretend,_ like when she hid from Family Number Three's drunken fistfights in the cabinet under the sink and make-believed she was in a cave filled with dripping stalactites (leaky faucet) and a family of wolves (the Foster Mother's fur coat) that had taken Emma in to raise her, a life she'd dreamed of ever since she'd seen "The Jungle Book". Like when she'd run away from Family Number Seven and played like she was an Indian hunting for food out of the local dumpster until authorities plucked her off the streets and dropped her right back into the system. Or when she used to pretendher parents were on vacation and would arrive on her latest foster parents' doorsteps, feet crowded with suitcases and arms wide open.

Likewise, any emotions _she_ felt towards him were simply situational, brought on by life-or-death moments where he _may_ have been the last man she would ever touch.

_You're an idiot,_ her conscience groaned, providing her with a mental image of someone palming their face in shame and frustration.

Emma ignored her inner voice.

None of it had been real.

She was sure of it.

"Hook!" she shouted, glancing around as she abandoned the clearing, stepping over a fallen log and bracing herself against a tree. She realized she had no clue how to navigate the damn forest, and since she had dashed blindly at the sound of her mother's voice, she hadn't exactly bothered to take in any landmarks. Hook said he would find her, but Emma was more keen on finding him _first_, just in case the alliance in her head had been all for show. Her stomach suddenly clenched in pain—she had nearly forgotten about the importance of food and water in the excitement. Her mouth tasted dry like cotton, her throat burning with thirst. She wasn't sure how many days had passed—inside _and _outside her head—but she knew that if she didn't eat something within the next day, she was screwed.

What she wouldn't give for one of Granny's burgers.

Just as her mouth began to water, no thanks to her sudden fixation on ketchup, the forest detonated. Explosions of fire lit up the greenery around her, instantly singeing the world from emeralds to ruby red. Emma instinctively dropped to the ground in a low crouch, uttering a low oath as another fireball shot past her head, effectively igniting the wood to her left within seconds. Making a quick decision, Emma clambered to her feet and used her weight's momentum to propel herself away from the source of the fire. She doubled over at her waist, keeping low to the ground as she ducked further into the shelter of the trees. The forest continued to explode behind her, but thankfully, the fire had ceased to follow.

She sucked in a deep breath and took off at a sprint, wanting to get the hell away from whatever PMS tantrum the woods had suddenly decided to throw. Her muscles bubbled with lactic acid and she realized she wouldn't get much further on so little energy. If she could just get farther out of earshot from the danger...

Her body had other ideas.

She felt herself slow as her bones locked up against her, quivering beneath her spasming muscles. It was as if her body suddenly possessed a mind of its own, forcing Emma to stop and listen. Her eyes nervously darted around. She only saw trees. Massive trees looming ahead, while the explosions behind had quieted into silence. Only then did her ears pick up the tell-tale sounds of rushing water.

A _lot _of water.

Infinitely more water than the small riverbed she had visited with Hook—however long ago that had been. Even if it had rained while she had been unconscious, not enough rainfall could have caused such a torrential-sounding overflow.

The forest moaned. Emma squinted up at the tree line as even the tallest and strongest of lumber began to sway violently above. Her body started to shiver despite the tension she forced into her muscles. Something was off—way off.

Before Emma could make up her mind about which direction would be best to avoid her next, fast-approaching obstacle, the trees before her gave way to a flood. The water swept her feet out from beneath her, effectively submerging her in a makeshift river. It was as if God had turned on a faucet somewhere beyond the trees and emptied every storm cloud on earth into the forest. White froth foamed above Emma as she fought to get her head above the rush. The water had quickly deepened from inches to feet, sweeping across the forest floor. Emma's foot found the ground—now the floor of the massive body of water—and she kicked up. Her head rocked up and back out of the surface, limbs treading as the current carried her through the trees in a circular motion.

The water was moving her back toward the meadow.

Internally, she knew water outwitted fire, but she had no desire to return to that damn meadow and get herself roasted like a marshmallow. She wanted to get the hell away, find Hook, and get out of Happily-Ever-Fucking-After-Land.

Aided with an adrenaline rush, Emma kicked out and used her arms to pull her way toward an oncoming tree. The current wrapped around her waist like a pair of strong arms and wrenched her out of reach. She fisted her hands and struck the water angrily. The river pulled her faster now, eager to return her to where she had come from.

Suddenly, Emma's foot caught on something unforeseen by the water. Her body jerked backwards against the tide, the surface washing up and over her head. Wave upon wave of water beat against her body as the current carried on, as though unaware its passenger was stuck. Emma flung her arms out, sucked in a deep breath, and pushed herself downward towards the tree root that had grabbed hold of her ankle. She quickly tugged her foot out of its trap. Lungs burning, her fingers grabbed hold of the root and pulled, towing her towards the tree and up its emerged body. Emma wrapped her arms firmly around the trunk as the water swept on, for once never in her life so happy to be hugging a tree.

In a matter of seconds, the rushing current died down to a slow trickle, leaving the ground soggy and soaked with mud. Emma gingerly touched back down from the tree, her hands aching and indented from her firm grip on the bark. Her eyes darted around, teeth gritted as a chill raced up her damp clothes. "Goddamn you, Hook, no man is worth this," she growled, tipping her head to the side to wring out her dripping hair. She sent up a quick prayer, bargaining to trade Hook in for a decent hair dryer.

As if on cue, the breeze picked up instantly. Emma took a step back to dig her feet in against the rapidly strengthening gusts.

Her jaw dropped. "Shit." No sooner had the word left her lips than a giant squall of air knocked her off her feet and hurled her across the forest floor, in the direction of the meadow. The air, however, had less control over its power as it quickly slammed Emma into a tree twenty feet away. A sickening crack broke across her skull, sending her vision into darkness as her head echoed with the pounding of a nonexistent heart. She let out a half-scream, hoping that, if Hook hadn't heard the destructive volume of the forest, maybe his deaf ears would at least pick up on her high-pitched yelp. The air pressed in around her, though, making it difficult to cry out, let alone breathe. Her skin pushed back into her bones from the force of the winds. Emma suddenly realized, with a breathless chuckle, she'd been granted her wish: a giant hairdryer.

A second wind current blew in from her side, rolling her away from the tree and back into the wind's initial path. She shut her eyes tight, stomach threatening to empty itself. Nausea boiled inside but Emma knew it was pointless—she had nothing left to throw up. Seconds passed before the air suddenly died down, dropping Emma unceremoniously onto a patch of thick grass. She gingerly plucked her aching head up from the earth.

_Back in the meadow._

_Yay._

Before she could move more muscles to assess the damage done by merciless elements, a familiar voice laughed huskily from behind. "Should have stayed put, love. I told you I'd find you."

Emma hissed as she forced herself to roll over, glaring at him beneath hooded lashes. Gone was his black poet's shirt from her dream, replaced by his normal attire of black coat, knee-high boots, and a vested shirt that plunged in a sensuous "V". However, he was positively _dirty. _From head to toe, he was covered in dirt and dried mud. Bits of grass clung to his cheek and stuck out at odd angles from his hair. One sleeve of his coat was torn, and a small, purplish bruise was steadily forming over his left brow. He stood there, ever the cocky pirate as he eyed her appreciatively, arms folded with his head cocked to the side. Emma's cheeks flushed with barely concealed rage. He was mocking her, her fear, as if _he— _Emma shook her head once, a quick snap, instantly rejecting whatever thought of betrayal was pushing its way to the surface. Her eyes narrowed when she took in his calm bearing, as if he'd seen these kinds of elemental storms every day. And then a more frightening idea occurred to her.

Hook had wanted her to stay still until he found her.

She had been in the meadow and then deserted it.

Three elements had, together, forced her back to said meadow.

_Oh no._

_Oh _hell _no._

"_You_ did this?!" she screeched, forgetting her foggy vision as she clambered to her feet. The world tilted on its axis before her, nearly sending her to the ground. A pair of strong arms caught her, steadying her until she found her footing. Rather than release her, though, one hand maintained its purchase on her elbow.

"Not directly, no."

There was a glint in his eye that Emma suddenly despised.

"I could have _died_," she enunciated each word slowly, syllable by syllable. Hook rolled his eyes, and with everything that had happened, everything that she refused to believe though some small part of her _wanted _to, she found herself royally pissed by the lack of worry on his face. Instead, he eyed her calmly, like a parent patiently listening to a child's story about the monster under the basement stairs. Placating her.

She shoved herself away from him violently.

Hook's gaze dipped to her shirt—still damp despite the massive winds—and settled on her chest. "You seem rather _ample_ and _full_ of life to me, darling. Don't be so dramatic—it doesn't become you." He grinned cheekily at her before dodging a fist to his face.

Hook raised his eyebrows tauntingly. "So eager to get your hands on me again, love?"

"How'd you do it?" she snarled. Her stomach twisted with hunger pains and she found herself tipping forward again. Hook caught her easily.

"Easy, pet, save your energy. You're going to need it."

Emma met his somber gaze and suddenly it seemed as if something inside her chest snapped.

The weight of what she had just done hit her like a ton of bricks.

She bit her lip, desperate to keep back the prickling, burning sensation that pressed at the back of her eyelids. "I don't—I don't have anything _left_." Her haunted whisper came out as a confession laced with double meanings. She hated sounding weak, but she was so _tired. _Exhausted, starving, aching, and feeling utterly alone. Save for the pirate before her. And that frightened her more than anything. She'd managed to keep up her strength for her mother, donning a facade of calm despite the urgency of the moment. Now? Now she felt a sense of dread flood her chest, closing off her esophagus and draining her of all color. A part of her knew she had to try her hardest for Henry, but the lack of food was making it difficult to concentrate and maintain any sort of hope or optimism. With Mary Margaret gone, she had no one to be brave for. And yet, she needed to be strong, if anything to prove she didn't need Hook.

She looked up and realized she hated the look of pity he had fastened her with.

_Not pity. Sympathy,_ her conscience corrected her.

Emma's eyes reassessed his face, taking in the dark circles shadowing his eyes, the frown lines carved into his forehead, the way his lip tipped upward in concentration. His touch felt like static, crackling a fire just beneath her skin. He felt it too—she could tell from the way his icy blue eyes darkened, lids hooded and mouth parting to draw in a sharp breath. She suddenly wondered what it would feel like—to _really _feel—his mouth on hers. Emma watched as Hook, ever so slightly, dipped his head down to hers, angling his jaw as his lips closed in, centimeters apart from hers. His eyes lowered to her lips before snapping back up to hold her gaze. His grip tightened, but not painfully—it was an embrace of reassurance, applying enough pressure to ground Emma in the reality of the moment. His hand rested on her upper arm, left arm braced behind her back. A thumb found its way beneath the sleeve of her shirt, softly tracing a pattern of flames along the ridge of her muscle.

Without warning, Hook calmly righted Emma again and took a step back, releasing her with a glance of regret as he stalked toward the tree line. Giving Emma her much-needed space.

With his hand no longer wrapped around her, warmth no longer soothing her into a vulnerable submission, Emma's head regained some of its clarity. She straightened up, feeling her spine pop and electrify her shoulders with ache. She quickly masked her wince, afraid Hook would turn around and see the pain etched all over her face.

She refused to be the damsel in distress.

Her mouth opened, hoping to demand a better explanation from Hook, when her stomach decided to erupt with a monstrous growl of its own. Embarrassed, Emma glanced away as Hook whirled on his toes, eyes narrowing sharply. "Please tell me that wasn't another Dargnell."

"I'm hungry," she snapped in a clipped tone. "I feel like I haven't eaten for days."

"Hours, more like," Hook corrected. Emma's teeth ground together as she realized her dream—comprising years of her fantasy life—had lasted less than a day. Her face flared with mortification. She couldn't even stave off hunger for more than a few hours. What a warrior princess she turned out to be.

Hook took a sharp step towards Emma. She instinctively straightened up, his scrutiny suddenly making her feel very nervous. She felt his gaze rake over her body, almost possessively. "So you sent them home, then?"

Emma nodded mutely.

Hook relaxed, relieved.

She chewed on her lip for a moment before speaking, questions flying around inside her head like dozens of gnats. She finally selected one at random. "You weren't sure it would work, were you?"

"I had my doubts," he confessed darkly, brows furrowing above stormy eyes. "It's not as if I am a connoisseur in magical bean blood." Emma forced back a smile, realizing how ridiculous he sounded.

"All talk, huh?"

His face wrinkled in confusion.

"You're all talk," Emma repeated softly. "So confident in your words, and yet you really have no idea what you're doing."

"No fucking clue," Hook grinned, all teeth.

Emma stared at him hard for a moment, her eyes trying to pick apart the intricate layers—as if just beyond the coating of muscles and veins she could finally find the answer for how he ticked. "Care to finally explain what happened back there? Or was it just a coincidence the elements decided to bitch out while you were rolling around in mud and looking for me?"

"No such thing as coincidence, lass. Destiny," he drawled dramatically, "brought us together."

"Right," Emma rolled her eyes. She glanced down, unexpectedly noticing his left hand had remained tucked either behind his back, behind hers, or beneath his other arm. She hadn't seen a glint of silver since he'd found her again. "Where's your hook?"

Hook's lips twisted into a wry grin, brows furrowing, as if reliving some inside joke with himself. A loud growl suddenly rippled from behind him, shaking the forest floor. Emma braced herself for another God-Only-Knows-What, when she noticed Hook smirking.

Understanding lit her face.

"What the hell did you _do_?!" Emma demanded above the sudden uproar. Hundreds of birds took to the sky above them, the colossal noise sending them from their nests. The trees swayed in a direct path towards them, as if buckling beneath the oncoming approach of some _thing._ Emma had a feeling she knew exactly what it was. What had he called it? _Master of the elements... _She rounded on Hook angrily. "You said you took care of it!"

"Aye."

"_That_," she pointed towards the waving trees, the growling getting louder, "is _not_ taking care of it!"

"I was merely exercising my right to take advantage of the situation at _hand_, lass." He gingerly lifted his left arm, hook-less and wrapped in cloth to hide the nub of flesh and bone. Emma's mind struggled to keep up with his meaning.

His hook. It was missing.

He only ever had one purpose in mind for that fucking hook.

He had two more tries with it... _Had._

A scream filled the meadow, high-pitched and keening like a terrifying question, lilting around Emma as the trees before her finally gave way into the meadow. She dove out of the way but as she did so, she noticed several things.

One, she was not as spry as she used to be. Rather than sail gracefully through the air like a gazelle and execute a perfect tumble to her feet for further escape (a maneuver she prided herself in perfecting over the years), Emma face-planted into the ground right where she was, tripping over her rubbery, useless limbs.

Two, she no longer liked trees and their seemingly flimsy structures in this realm. The way they groaned and snapped in two without warning forced Emma to re-categorize trees from a safety zone for danger on the ground to major health hazard. In fact, if Henry ever dared ask her in the future to build a tree house, she would ground him immediately.

And three, she had found Hook's hook. And it was certainly _not _alone.

The Dargnell burst through the trees, the curved metal imbedded in one of its scales on the upper back. The remaining, untouched scales flexed like an airplane wing, slowing down its rapid approach to keep the monster from plowing over Emma. A loud, grotesque howl filled the air. The Dargnell's teeth gnashed, snaking its massive head up toward the sky as its claws dug into the earth before slowing down to a halt next to Emma. She glanced up, steeling herself for the inevitable return to her psychotic brain. _Here we go a-fucking-gain. _But something was different this time. The creature, rather than charging with a predatory stance, approached Emma in submission as it skidded to a standstill, its posture subdued and hunched. She would have sworn her heart stopped beating—if she still _had_ the stupid organ.

Emma froze, shock working its way through her veins like ice.

Oddly, the only thing she could focus on, was the metal sticking out of the monster's back, and not the monster itself. The location of the hook was too high up to reach by foot and rooted too deeply to have simply been thrown as a weapon.

Emma's jaw dropped, realization dawning. Had Hook had been _riding_ the damn thing? Or, at least, _attempting_ to? That must have been why he was covered in mud and leaves.

_God. Never a dull moment._

She was hardly surprised when she shot a glance at Hook, only to find him much closer now and his left hand holding something wrapped in cloth. Where he'd gotten the cloth from, she had no idea, but she imagined his coat was made with numerous pockets. She had a sudden, clear mental image of Hook in New York, flashing his coat open at passersby, laced with dials and hands, asking if they wanted to buy a watch.

"What is that?" she asked. Her voice came out hollow and broken.

She knew what it was before he even began to unwrap it, but it seemed the question was necessary.

Hook balanced the parcel on his left arm, using his right to carefully fold back the edges of cloth. Inside sat a large organ, nearly the size of her head. She had no idea where he'd kept it up to this moment, but she realized it didn't matter.

The only thing that _did _matter was that Hook was standing before her, proudly, offering her the Dargnell's heart.

Before she realized it, Emma had Hook by the collar of his shirt, fisting it and hoisting her knuckles up against his throat. She was seething. "Put. It. _Back._"

Hook swatted her roughly away, tucking the monster's organ into the crook of his left arm while his right shot out defensively, fingers spread and palm out to ward off Emma. "Easy, lass," he urged. "Don't want to do something you'll regret, now."

"The only _fucking thing _I regret is meeting _you_," she hissed bitterly, vision going red and words tasting like venom in her mouth. It was a lie, filthy and choking in her throat. Yet, in that moment, for a few brief seconds, she hated him. She loathed him. She damned him to hell and back. The Dargnell had nearly killed her, but it was a death warranted by its nature. Predator versus prey. Now, somehow, they'd both ended up with the same fate: their hearts in Hook's hand. It was unnatural. And for some sick, twisted reason, she was enraged—for herself, for the monster, _at_ the son of a bitch who started it all. Who the hell was he to think he could just pluck out hearts like a commodity and force others to his bidding?!

_Magic always comes with a price. _She hoped to God Hook would get his soon. Or she'd rip his own heart out by the point of his hook. She wouldn't control him. She'd kill him.

As if reading her thoughts, Hook's face darkened. He bared his teeth menacingly like an animal. "Ideas have a way of coming back to haunt us, Swan. Make no mistake, I am doing this for _our _own good. Better it," he jerked his head toward the waiting Dargnell, whose head was lowered to the ground and watching them with hooded, bored eyes, "than us. Wouldn't you agree?"

"_No._" She shoved him away from her by the scruff of his clothes. Hard. He took a stumbling step before righting himself, instantly invading her space again but without touching her. "I don't agree. This isn't how the world works."

"This isn't _your_ world."

"_It was supposed to be,_" she snarled, her face nearly against his. Hook's chest heaved in an effort to force self-restraint, but his jaw was tight with exasperation, fist half raised and shaking as if he wanted to strike her. _Good,_ she thought. _Hit me. Give me a reason to hate you._ To emphasize her point, she pushed forward, her chest pressing against his until they were nearly aligned, inch by inch. Only millimeters separated their lips. "This was supposed to be my _home._ I was supposed to have _parents, _a family. I was supposed to grow up here, but instead I had to _survive._ Completely on my own. And despite whatever shit I had to go through to get here," she swallowed thickly, "I think I did pretty damn okay. But where I come from? You don't _use_ people and get away with it. You can't just force them into an alliance with blackmail, so to speak, and expect no repercussions. You'll get yours someday, Killian Jones, I swear to God. If you don't put that heart back, I will _end you_." Her voice had dropped an octave. "Make no mistake about _that._" Another lie, but she was so damn _angry_ at him. Magical hook be damned, he had no right. _No right._

_You're more afraid of him doing this to you than the actual outcome of the Dargnell,_ her mind warned her softly.

Hook exhaled, refusing to back down. "It tried to kill you," his voice shook.

"Yeah, well that's _life._ It's nature. Things happen in the wild, and you do your best with what you're given. You don't _cheat_, and you certainly don't try to control death."

"Your futuristic outlook is rather grim," he growled.

"I'm not on a suicide mission. I'm just telling you, you're screwing with the order of things. And from my experience? It comes back to bite you in the ass. Every. Time." Emma pulled back from him sharply, taking a few steps away only to turn her back on him and face the subdued Dargnell. It bowed its head, lowering its front fists to the ground as it flattened itself. Head cocked, a massive eye blinked closed. Watching. Waiting.

"You do realize," Hook began softly, "if I give it back its heart, it will in all likelihood kill us. This was the best I could do to save you on short notice, Swan, while you dreamt the day away." He sounded bitter, displeased with her lack of gratitude.

"Thank you," she offered, "but there had to be another way." She slowly walked up to the Dargnell's massive head, forcing her breathing to calm and the pounding in her veins to slow. Emma raised a hand hesitantly before placing it on the groove between its two stony horns. The Dargnell's eyes closed slowly before pushing its head against her fingers gently. In quiet appreciation, she thought. Emma half-wondered if it could understand her, see this moment and know she was trying to do for it what she could not do for herself. Part of her thought she was insane for doing this, siding with a beast that had, hours before, tried to kill her. Yet another part empathized and knew that what Hook had done was dark, the kind of act you cannot turn back from. She, laughingly, reminded herself of Mary Margaret. This is what her mother would do. She was sure of it. She knew Hook's agenda, though she often pushed it to the back of her mind. He planned to do the same thing to Rumpelstiltskin, a plan she was sure to thwart if they ever got back to Storybrooke. But the realness of what he wanted to do—what had most likely happened to his former love, Milah—was too much for Emma to bear. She would not let him bear it either.

For whatever reason.

_"She is none of your concern,"_ Hook's voice broke through her head. Emma turned sharply, narrowing her eyes as she kept her hand on the Dargnell's enormous forehead, as if touching it strengthened her empathetic connection.

_She's not yours anymore, either,_ Emma shot back, teeth clenched.

Instantly, an image of Neal shot to the forefront of her mind. _"Our pasts have a way of becoming our shadows, do they not?" _His tone was cold and unrelenting. Emma shuddered, angered by the way he forced and tampered with her memories. She could feel his presence in her head, icy fingertips dancing through her thoughts.

_Get out._

_"No." _

Her wrist ached as the leather brace tightened precariously. Emma instantly threw up a blockade in her mind. Hook frowned, taking a step closer to her as if the physical proximity would help break her down mentally. She threw up another wall, and another, until Hook was visibly tense and shaking beneath barely restrained frustration.

His lack of control made him afraid. She could see it all over his face.

"Break into my head again and I'll break it off," she gestured crudely to his crotch.

His mental presence receded instantly. Emma bit back a triumphant grin, instead choosing to focus on the bundled organ in his arm. Hook sauntered up to her, staring at her hard. He worked his jaw for a moment, clearly mulling things over, weighing the pros and cons of the situation (or the lack of a dick) before finally holding out the Dargnell's heart as an offering of truce. She jerked her head toward it, one hand still on the Dargnell, the other hanging limply at her side.

"What were you going to do with it?"

"Keep it as a pet." His face was deadly serious.

Emma's jaw slackened. "Batshit crazy," she muttered under her breath, gaze trailing from the beating heart back to the monstrous creature before her. She felt the cloth brush against her limp hand and saw Hook trying to force the heart into her hand. She lifted it carefully, using both hands to hold—it was much heavier than she thought. The steady _thump thump_ vibrated against her fingers dully, like a helpless bird barely fighting against its cage. She released the cloth, her fingers braced against the hot organ. With a thought from Emma, the Dargnell lifted its head high, exposing its chest for her. She could see how anyone like Hook, Gold, or Regina could be power-drunk off hearts and the control it fed them. An icy chill made its way up her spine.

She was better than that.

_They _were better than that, she realized, as Hook nodded at her to continue. Emma braced the heart quietly against the Dargnell's mossy, golden scales. She pressed and the skin gave way, eagerly accepting the heart. The skin folded in and back, blocking Emma's hand from following suit.

Emma stepped back. Hook stood quietly beside her.

His one good hand found hers, wrapping around tightly.

He gave it a squeeze as they watched the Dargnell ruffle its scales like a bird, shivering as its will slammed back into its body. It shook itself to its full height, sharpened fangs extending, head snaking up to the sky to release a skin-crawling scream. A large, red tongue slipped out the corner of its mouth.

Emma held her breath.

And let it go.

**x**

**x**

**x**

* * *

**Shew. And the drama continues! Let me know if you enjoyed the feels.**

**For those of you interested, I've done a rough sketch of how I picture the Dargnell. You can find it at my Deviantart account (blacksilkrose123). **

**A word to the wise: please be patient with me for the next few weeks—I'm in the process of moving halfway across the country, so it may be a good month before you hear from me. In the meantime, give me some love! Your reviews make me Hook-happy, and a Hook-happy author writes faster :) **


End file.
